


Our Pieces Are More Jagged Now

by AlexKingOfTheDamned, swimsalot



Series: History Repeating [2]
Category: The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: And there's a lot of violence, Angst, F/M, M/M, Sequel to "Who's Afraid of the Big Green Thing?", There will be eventually, and did I mention angst, gay sex that is, now with sex!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-04
Updated: 2013-05-02
Packaged: 2017-11-28 04:49:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 54,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/670454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlexKingOfTheDamned/pseuds/AlexKingOfTheDamned, https://archiveofourown.org/users/swimsalot/pseuds/swimsalot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sequel to "Who's Afraid of the Big Green Thing?"<br/>Highly recommend reading that one first</p><p>===</p><p>After the battle of New York City, Bruce finds out that Clint isn't dead like he thought he was and his reality as he knows it comes crashing down around him. He tries to make it work with Clint again after so many years apart, but meanwhile Clint is dealing with his own problems, which are all named Loki.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read the first part of this two-fic story, I strongly suggest you do first 
> 
> Here's a link for your reading convenience 
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/611152

The Hulk has a very simple mind. He always has.

 

He looks at something, and his mind goes through a very simple process.

 

Is it a threat?

Can I hurt it?

Should I eat it?

 

His mind is very, very simple, and he only has room for one thing at a time. Usually it’s rage, but that’s because his other half – his _meaner_ half, if you asked him – never lets him out, so he’s always upset. Who wouldn’t be cranky if they’re in time out almost all of the time?

 

The Hulk isn’t always all bad, in fact sometimes he’s almost entirely all good. But those times are rare, and they don’t come very often. Sometimes, he’ll remember a time when he was good once, but then he’ll remember that he should be mean instead because everyone is always mean to him.

 

But no, that isn’t true either.

 

Because that man in the red suit isn’t mean to him. He’s very, very nice. That’s why the Hulk caught him when he was falling. Because the Hulk is nice to people who are nice to him.

 

And the man in the blue suit, he’s nice too. He let Hulk smash everything, and he didn’t even get in trouble for it.

 

And the man with the yellow hair, he’s sort of nice, even though he was mean once, but the Hulk thinks that he’s trying to be nice now, and it was sort of an accident when the Hulk hit him again.

 

And the lady in black, she’s very nice too, even though she was scared of him, and he tried to hurt her once, she’s still nice to him now so the Hulk should try to be nice back, too.

 

And there was another one, wasn’t there?

Oh, it doesn’t matter to the Hulk.

 

He’s pacing now, lifting up alien bodies and dropping them again, anticipating one to stand up so he could beat it down again, but it’s not happening, they’re all still. The red suit man is on his feet again, and he keeps thanking the Hulk and touching his arms and it feels nice. The Hulk hasn’t been nice touched in a long time.

 

The team comes together from all corners of the city, convening in a intersection, and the blue suit man is talking now, but he’s saying too many words too fast for the Hulk to pay attention, so instead he practices his counting on the dead bodies, but he always forgets what comes after four, so he just keeps counting to four and then starting over.

 

And then he looks up, and he sees across the circle a man with a face that he remembers.

 

He remembers a time years and years ago when he held that man because he was hurt and he was dying, and he let his other half out because he has littler hands and he could save him.

He remembers a time in an alley when he was being hurt, and this man stopped him from being mean. It was the first time anyone ever asked him why he was angry.

 

He remembers this man. This man is the nicest man ever.

He remembers his name.

 

“CLINT!”

 

And then poor agent Barton is flattened to the ground by several hundred pounds of green flesh.

 

The air rushes from Clint's lungs leaving him gasping. He twitches in pain as the arms wrap around him, crushing his lungs and pressing pieces of glass still stuck in his arms deeper into his flesh. It hurts so much but he knows better than to pull away.  
  
Instead he goes limp and wraps his arms around the Hulk as best he can. He can hardly believe that the Hulk still recognized him after so many years since their last meeting, and it nearly brings tears to his eyes to realize that in all the simplicity of his mind, there’s still room in there for _him_. He missed the Hulk. He missed him almost as much as he missed Bruce. And being able to hold him feels so good he can almost ignore the pain.  
  
"Hey Big Guy. Loosen up a bit will ya?" he says. He knows the others are watching and they're going to have questions that he doesn't want to answer. They won't ask now, in the post battle haze and that's good because he's enjoying this right now even if it breaks his heart to know that he's going to lose it all over again.

 

“Whoa, hey, what’s going on here?!” Tony says, grabbing the Hulk’s shoulder and trying to pry him off the archer. Steve and Thor take the other side – for all they know, Clint is under attack.

 

The Hulk sits up however, and pulls Clint into his lap, ignoring the others as he continues to hold him, just a little bit looser. “Clint,” he says again, and frees one arm so he can pet Clint’s head like he’s a kitten.

 

"Leave him be guys." Clint says, patting the Hulk's large arm. His neck is already starting to ache from the abuse but it's nothing a few pain killers won't take care of. At least Hulk isn't angry with him.  
  
"He just needs to calm down. Bruce will be back soon." he tells them while smiling up at the Hulk. "How you doing Big Guy? Any of those aliens hurt ya?"

 

And then the Hulk gave Clint a gentle cuff to the head – although to Clint it was a little bit too rough, and he’s left dizzy.

 

“Clint leave Hulk – bad Cupid!” he roared, and suddenly dropped Clint down to the ground.

 

“Okay, we don’t have time for this,” Steve said, helping Clint to a shaky stand. “We have to find Loki – ”

 

“Hulk know where puny God is,” the Hulk said, and pointed to the top of Stark Tower. “Hulk left him there. He not going anywhere.”

 

Clint smiles and gives the Hulk a playful slap on the arm. "Way to go buddy. Good job." He knows the Hulk isn't praised much and the smile he receives for the compliment is enough to make him blush.  
  
He nods to the others to let them know it's alright and follows the Hulk up into the tower. If they're as good as everyone says they are they'll be smart enough to take the Hulk's word for it and come with them.

 

Loki is exactly where the Hulk left him, just like he said, and he looks _so_ proud of himself when he points him out. Tony got there first, and Natasha and Clint and Steve took the elevator – Thor flew and the Hulk climbed.

 

“See, Hulk left him right here,” he says, pointing. “Hulk told you.” Nobody paid any attention to him, but Clint looked. And Clint smiles at him. And the Hulk grins back.

 

While the others were apprehending Loki, the Hulk steps away. He feels a little weary, and he sits down on a pile of rubble. Thor is busy reprimanding Loki loudly, and Tasha and Steve are busy making sure he won’t pull anything funny.

 

His great green head sags, but it snaps up again when he feels a touch at his arm. His entire body tensed in preparation for attack, but he looks up into the face of Clint, and he relaxes. This is a nice touch.

 

“Why you leave?” he asks. He remembers a time when he was around Clint constantly every single day – or at least, his other half was – but that was such a long time ago. Suddenly there were days when he wasn’t there, and he never came back. “Why you leave Hulk? You said friend. Friend doesn’t leave.”

 

"I had to man." Clint says, crouching in front of him. His throat catches a little bit when he thinks about why he left. The old wound still hurts. "The other guy didn't want me around anymore. He doesn't like me now. I didn't want to go."

 

“So leave him. Don’t leave me,” the Hulk says, and he brushes his hand over Clint’s shoulder, feeling his chest and his arm and making sure that he’s really standing right there and this isn’t one of his dreams.

 

"Aw, buddy." Clint mutters, eyes wet with tears. He hadn't thought about how hard the Hulk would take his leaving. He and the Hulk were friends. Good friends. The only friends they each had. He hadn't even thought of him when he fell out with Bruce, and he's only now realizing how abandoned he must have felt. He feels awful. He never wanted to hurt him like that. "I didn't want to leave you. I promise, I didn't want to leave either of you."

 

“Hulk doesn’t believe you,” he shakes his great head, but there are tears in his eyes. “Clint never came back.”

 

“I’m sensing some history between the two of you,” Tony said, approaching cautiously. “But can we set aside whatever ails you until we have Mr. God Complex in chains? We could really use your muscle, Big Guy.”

 

"Go on." Clint urges. He stands and takes a step back, giving the Hulk some room. He wipes his eyes and gives him a shaky smile "Go do what you do best."  
  
He watches the Hulk reluctantly join the others as he takes his place beside Natasha. They tell Tony they'll meet him at the shawarma place after they check in with Fury. He gives the Hulk one last smile before following his partner down the stairs, wondering if he'll ever get to see him again.

 

When Bruce comes to, he’s leaning between Tony and Steve, and he’s almost completely naked. His trousers would have fallen down around his ankles, had Tony not grabbed the trashed waistband with his free hand.

 

“Let’s get him in some fresh clothes,” he says, and he and Steve lead him to one of Tony’s spare bedrooms, and he’s clothed quickly. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Bruce tries to go over the battle in his head, but he remembers very little of it. Groaning, he pushes the heels of his hands against his eyes.

 

“What now?” he mutters.

 

“Now, we’re going to go get some food,” Tony says, pulling Bruce to his feet. “Could you eat?”

 

“I could eat,” Bruce says emphatically. Turning into the Hulk and back burned an assload of calories, and he was always starving afterwards.

 

And before long, he’s sitting at a table with Steve and Thor and Tony, and Loki’s chained in the corner, but a few people are missing. He doesn’t see Natasha, and there’s another chair set up, too. The shop owners are a little surprised to have business so suddenly, but they’re more than willing to make a few wraps for the heroes of the city. Bruce eats four easy before slowing down, because the only other person eating as much as him is Thor, and that’s a little embarrassing.

 

And he’s almost going to start a conversation when Natasha walks into the building, followed by _Clint_.

 

One look at his face, and flashbacks are shooting through Bruce like machine gun rounds.

 

He remembers the circus, where Clint found him, so many years ago.

He remembers escaping, he remembers the train, the children they tried to help, the children who saved their lives.

He remembers their life together in Brazil, he remembers his doctor’s office.

He remembers how many times they made love.

He remembers how many times they fought.

 

He remembers _the_ fight.

The one where he told Clint not to come back.

And then he remembers getting the news of Clint’s death.

 

He doesn’t realize that he’s on his feet, or that there are tears pouring down his face, or that everyone is staring at him like he’s just turned again.

 

“You’re dead,” his whisper is hoarse as he looks Clint in the eyes.

 

Clint drops his head, pretending he's looking at the floor while he takes in the man in front of him. Bruce is thinner than he remembered but he knows he hasn't been eating as much as he should. He's greyer too but seven years will do that to a man.  
  
Seven years. Long, lonely years spent wishing he could go back and knowing he can't. And now the man he pined for is standing in front of him, tears rolling down his cheeks.  
  
"It was a cover." he says quietly. "For an op. I was never even injured."  
  
He takes the seat next to Natasha, carefully avoiding Bruce's eyes as he sits and places his order, knowing the other man is watching him.

 

Bruce is staring at Clint so hard, he can’s believe what’s coming out of his mouth.

 

“A cover – ” he cuts off, his voice breaking, and he sounds like he’s going to be sick. “I can’t – ”

 

He suddenly kicks his chair back, and he’s running from the restaurant. There’s silence for a long moment, broken, not surprisingly, by Tony.

 

“Okay, spill the beans, what the hell?”

 

"Not now Stark." Clint replies and he's out of his seat. He runs out of the shop, chasing after Bruce. The other man is exhausted and it's an easy task to catch up to him.  
  
"Bruce, wait!" he yells, grabbing his arm. "Stop. Please. You can't run away like that. They're going to start asking questions."

 

Bruce’s shove is so forceful, it almost knocks Clint off his feet.

 

“I don’t care!” he snaps, and his body language is defensive, but Clint isn’t scared, because if he turns the Hulk won’t hurt him. “You’re supposed to be _dead!_ I let myself forget you because you were _dead!_ I forgot everything, I put it all aside, I forgot my plan to find you again because you died, and I lost you, I lost everything, _you died!_ Why didn’t you ever tell me you weren’t dead?!”

 

 "You had Rafaela." Clint answers truthfully, referring to the girl that stepped into Bruce’s life after he told Clint to leave. "You had moved on. I didn't see any reason to intrude. You had someone you could be happy with. I had no right to come walking back into your life. It was better for you to forget me."

 

“I wasn’t happy with her! The moment you walked out of that door, I was _never happy again!_ ” Bruce feels so weak, and so tired, and digging up the past is making him sick. “And I was going to come back for you, I was going to find you, but then you died. You died, and I wanted to die with you, and _I tried_.”

 

"Don't you dare!" Clint yells back, tears filling his won eyes. He takes a step back. He can't believe Bruce would lie to him like this. He had never thought of him as cruel before but there's no other word to describe it. "Don't you dare lie to me like this! You told me to leave! You told me to go and you never came after me. You never even showed the slightest inclination of wanting me back! Don't pretend losing me was hard for you. You made excuses and I left, just like you wanted so don't pretend you suffered!"

 

“I suffered for _years!_ ” they’re definitely howling at each other now, and Tasha has poked her head out of the restaurant, but she hasn’t approached. “I told you to leave because I was so mad, and I couldn’t deal with my shit, but I intended to find you after I got rid of the beast so I could prove to you that I could still love you without it – but then you _died_ and threw a fork in that whole plan! I had _no way_ of tracking you down after you were gone, I don’t even know your last name!”

 

"Barton." Clint says quietly. "It's Barton. You could have asked. Or better yet, you could have come after me in the first place. When I walked out. I wanted you to. I wanted so badly for you to ask me to come back but you didn't. You let me walk away. And then you never left. You told me you had to leave and you didn't and I realized you were just trying to find a way to get rid of me."

 

“I just told you I _couldn’t_ come after you. I thought I was leaving for the cure right away, but that whole thing was a big misunderstanding and I wasn’t actually supposed to leave just yet, I _never_ would have lied to you like that! It’s like you always thought I was against you the whole time, that I never actually cared, like you thought I was incapable of caring!”

 

Bruce takes a breath now. He feels dizzy and he’s crying, and oh god he just wants to sleep. But then it hits him.

 

“Barton?” he repeats, when Clint doesn’t say anything. “That’s not… it’s not the same Barton… with Loki? The one they were talking about, the attack on the helicarrier?”

 

Clint's expression darkened and he turned his back. "Yeah. That was me. That's all on me. It was for you, actually. I attacked to get a rise out of you. To make you turn. That was my idea. I told Loki. You can hate me for that too."  
  
He's had enough for now. He can't do this. It hurts too much. He doesn't know what parts of Bruce's story to believe and what not to. Bruce could have come after him. When he first walked out the door he could have called him back but he didn't. And he didn't leave. But he knows he cared, at some point he cared. He can't reconcile their past now. Not with what he's done to them all still so fresh.  
  
So he walks back to the restaurant. He takes his seat and ignores the looks the others are giving him. They don't need to know everything and what he and Bruce had was private. It didn't have anything to do with them.  
  
Natasha puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, wordlessly asking him if they need to leave, but he just stares at the table. Honestly, he's starving. He'll leave right after.  
  
Tony keeps looking over his shoulder for Bruce to return, but he's nowhere in sight. He looks anxiously around at the others, but no one seems to be making a move to go look for him.  


"Seriously, does nobody give a shit?" he says loudly, startling everyone in the silence. He throws back his chair and storms out of the restaurant in pursuit of his friend. It doesn't even take long to find him. He's collapsed in the middle of a street about 100 feet away, his legs buckled to either side of him, his body sagged, his head hung in his hands, and he's crying.  
  
"Hey man," Tony says, approaching carefully. The man is obviously worked up and as much as Tony loves to take risks he's not going to go poking a wounded bear. "If Katniss is giving you a hard time I can kick him out, it's no trouble really. I like you better anyway."  
  
Bruce shakes his head, his hands trembling and his body shaking. But he doesn't say anything. His chest is aching and his whole body is tight with the suppressed desire to go running into the restaurant and fling himself at Clint's feet and beg forgiveness. His throat is dry and his whole body hurts.  
  
"Please leave me alone," he finally chokes out.  
  
"Come on big guy. We're friends. I just want to help." Tony says, coming closer. He crouches down next to Bruce, careful to keep himself a little above the rubble. "Why don't you tell Uncle Tony all about it and he'll make it all better, alright?"  
  
He hates seeing Bruce like this. He genuinely likes the guy and seeing him hurting like this just isn't right. It pisses Tony off and he has half a mind to go back to the restaurant and punch Clint in the face. He doesn't know what's going on but obviously the archer has something to do with it.  
  
"This is about me making dumb mistakes in the past that I can't fix," Bruce's body was trembling with restrained sobs. "And neither can you."  
  
Tony rolls his eyes. "We've all made mistakes. Best thing you can do is put them behind you and not make them again. You have to move on. You lost something then, well tough. Take what you can get now. Which means getting off your ass and coming inside to eat with the rest of us."  
  
"I'm not going back there. I can't look at him," Bruce shakes his head again. "I'm not going back there."

 

"What, you're just going to let him walk away from you like that?" Tony asks, crossing his arms. "He gets to go eat with the rest of us while you sit here in the dirt being a coward? Bullshit, man. You're coming back with me. You deserve it and so does he."

 

Bruce’s head suddenly snaps up, tears brimming in his eyes. Clint was walking away from him again, and here he is, feeling sorry for himself and letting it happen _again_.

He grabs Tony’s hand and lets him pull him to a stand, his knees nearly giving out, but he stayed steady.

 

“I’m scared,” he admits, “He and I… we have some potent history.”

 

"You wanna tell me about it or go back inside?" Tony asks. He can't help smiling a little. He doesn't know exactly what he said that did it but he's at least got Bruce up and he's stopped crying so it doesn't really matter. What matters is that it worked, like everything else he does.

 

Bruce clenches his jaw and looks nervously around, like he’s getting prepared to take off running. “I really… I don’t know if I can go back. I think I’m going to be sick.”

 

"That's just the four wraps you inhaled. You'll be fine. And if he gets out of line I'll fly him to the top of the Empire State Building and leave him there. Promise." Tony replies with a smirk, leading Bruce back towards the restaurant at a snails pace so he won't run off. "So do you want to tell me what this is all about? If I know I can help."

 

Bruce thinks about it. He hasn’t told anyone since Rafaela, and as good a man as Tony is, he doesn’t seem like the best person to confide every detail in. He swallows and condenses.

 

“We met in a circus about eleven years ago,” Bruce swallows again, feeling the food he’d eaten try its hardest to get back out of his body all in a rush. “Left, lived together for three years, and then when I found out a way to get rid of the Hulk he got mad. He thinks of him as a friend instead of a threat, and I saw him as nothing but a beast. We had a pretty brutal falling out.”

 

"Hey man, while I agree with him, it's your life." Tony shrugs. They're nearly to the door now. "A real friend would have supported you. If anyone should be out here crying in the dirt it should be him. That was a dick move."

 

Bruce swallows, and while he desperately wants to take Tony’s side, he knows that was just because he wanted to be right in the situation. And he wasn’t right. He’d kicked Clint out and let him leave. Nothing he did was right. He digs his heels in at the door of the restaurant and suddenly wanted to go no further, scoping out another escape route.

 

"Bruce, come on you have to face him. We're supposed to be a team here. Do it for the Avengers." Tony pleads, tugging him a little closer to the door. His hand is on the handle, ready to go back inside. He just needs to get Bruce moving. "That was years ago. You didn't de-Hulk and he's still a jackass. Move on."

 

“I can’t move on!” Bruce shouts, and he knows that Clint heard him, and he jerks out of Tony’s grip and paces a few feet away. “I can’t.” his voice is quieter, shakier, and he feels disgusting and helpless and so wrong.

 

Inside the restaurant Clint puts down his wrap and stands with a sigh. He knows Tasha is looking at him and that she can probably see just how tired and empty he feels right now but he doesn't want to say anything. He just shakes his head at her and nods to the other two still with them.  
  
"I should go. Someone tell Bruce it's safe to come back in." Without waiting for a reply he goes to the owner who gladly escorts him out the back to an alley.  
  
Natasha watches him go and once he's out of sight she gets up and goes to the door.  
  
"He's gone. You can come in now."

 

Bruce is heartbroken and furious at his own cowardice. He should have gone in, he should have said something. He might not see Clint again now, he’ll probably disappear with SHIELD again and that will be that. It hurts; it aches down to his very core. It was so much better when he thought Clint was dead.

 

He nods and walks back into the restaurant, sits at the table, and hangs his head in shame.

 

Natasha follows him to his chair and stands over him, her face carefully neutral, all her anger condensed in her eyes. She places her hands on her hips as she glares down at him.  
  
"I don't know what you did but I have never seen Clint like that. I don't want to know but find some way to fix it."

 

“Convince him to talk to me again, and I will,” Bruce shook his head. “But he won’t even want to look at me.”

 

"You broke him. You pick up the pieces." she retorts and goes back to her seat. "He has to come back at some point. He's part of this team."

 

Bruce wants to slam his hands down on the table. He wants to scream and cry and throw her against a wall and hurt her. Instead, he just says slowly, “He broke me too.”

 

"Not my problem. You're not my partner." she says calmly. "I owe Clint so he's the one I'm going to protect. I've seen him through a lot. Every kind of torture you can imagine and plenty you can't. And I've never seen him look like that."

 

“Such good pals and he hasn’t even told you about his history with me?” Bruce chuckled wryly.

 

"Maybe you weren't worth talking about." she says coldly. She's still glaring at him when she stands, her chair pushed back so fast it falls to the ground. Then she turns and follows Clint out the back door. Her partner needs her now a lot more than they do.

 

That felt like a stab to the gut, and Bruce thinks he’s starting to hyperventilate.

But she’s right. They’re partners and he never said a word to her about Bruce. Granted, he didn’t talk about Clint, but that’s because he didn’t have anyone to talk about him _to_.

 

He stands up as well, shaking his head. “I knew I shouldn’t have come back in here,” he mutters thickly and disappears out the front door.

 

The restaurant is silent for a while before Loki gives a fluttery, smug little laugh in the corner from behind his gag.

 

"Quiet brother! Now is not the time for merriment!" Thor yells.  
  
Tony leaves shortly after. He gives Thor and Steve his number and tells them to call him soon because he wants to set something up for the team. Then he goes after Bruce.  
  
It doesn't take long to find him. He's huddled in an alley somewhere, looking like he's about to start crying or go green again. Tony approaches cautiously but feels confident enough to throw an army around Bruce's shoulders when he doesn't order him away.  
  
"Come on doc. Come back to the tower with me. Most of it is intact. I'll put you in a guest room for a while. It'll be great. No aliens or crazy assassins or Fury to bother you. You'll love it."

 

Bruce looks up wearily, and he’s far too tired to argue. He simply follows Tony, heavy on his feet, anticipating a nice soft bed. He normally would argue, say he doesn’t want to be a burden, but right now he’s physically and emotionally exhausted and he just wants to curl up and fall asleep and pretend this whole day didn’t happen.

 

He looks at Tony, smiling and open and happy to help, and throws his arms around him, desperate for some sort of affection. He knows they’re just new friends, but he knows deep down Tony is the kind of guy who gives a shit. And that is confirmed when the embrace is returned for just a moment, strong and sturdy around his waist.

 

He’s satisfied for now, and just follows behind Tony like a wounded animal.


	2. Chapter 2

The next few days are a hectic mess. Everyone is running everywhere, calling everyone, trying to figure out what to do with Loki and the Tesseract. Finally Thor decides for them, saying he will take both back Asgard where they are safe. That prompts an all new flurry of calls as hey all try to figure out where and when. Bruce stays with Tony the entire time though he doesn't see him too much after Pepper gets back and the two of them lock themselves in Tony's bedroom.   
  
When the day does finally arrive they all come down to Central Park to make sure Loki doesn't pull anything. Clint watches Bruce arrive with Tony and decides to keep his sunglasses on. He doesn't want him to see how red his eyes are or the dark circles beneath them. He watches Bruce and Tony interact from behind the shades, not approaching Bruce. Bruce doesn't approach him either and he isn't surprised. Hell, the last time they met up Bruce couldn't even stand to be in the same restaurant as him. There's no reason for him to want to talk now.   
  
After Loki is gone Tony invites them all to live with him in the tower. He gives them all his card and tell them to show up whenever they want, he's building suites for them all. He and Bruce leave shortly after and the rest all go their separate ways. Over the next week they begin to show up at Stark Tower. Steve is first. Then Thor when he returns from Asgard. Natasha takes the longest.  
  
Clint doesn't show up at all.

 

Bruce spends most of his time in Tony’s lab, trying to forget the way Clint looked at the park. Red shirt and intimidating sunglasses, brows furrowed and hidden within himself. He’d wanted to approach him so badly, but he couldn’t think of a thing to say. Clint was angry with him, he wasn’t going to believe anything he said.

 

And he has the right to be angry with Bruce. Hell, he’s angry with himself over the whole thing. He’s lost hours upon hours of sleep thinking about what it would have been like if he’d chased Clint down that day.

 

He aches down to his very bones, thinking about Clint. He misses him so badly it makes him sick. But he doubted Clint would even believe him. He’s so convinced that Bruce doesn’t care about him, the scientist could say it a thousand times over and he doubts Clint would ever think he was telling the truth.

 

And he knows Tony can tell he’s distracted. He’ll snap out of a daydream to see Tony’s concerned stare fixed on him, but he never asks about it. Probably due to his own bouts of self-loathing. He knows the look in Bruce’s eyes, and he knows how much it can hurt to talk about the things that send a man into that sort of expression. On one hand, he’s grateful that Tony doesn’t pry. But on the other hand, he needs to talk to someone about it before he explodes with residual depression. Depression that he was sure he’d gotten rid of years ago.

 

Clint stays on the helicarrier, getting regular updates from Tasha. She tells him about the rebuilding in New York and how the other Avengers are doing and how they all want him there at the tower. She doesn't tell him about Bruce and he doesn't ask. It's not that he doesn't want to know. He's dying for any scrap of information he can get. But he won't ask. He's too afraid of what she'll say or the questions she'll ask. She looks at him like she's waiting for him to tell her about it but he just looks away and pretends he doesn't notice. Natasha is his best friend and he tells her almost everything but this isn't just his story.  
  
He spends most of his time hiding out on the range. It's one of the few areas of the helicarrier that wasn't damaged during his attack. This is mostly because it's deep in the bowels of the ship and had nothing to do with their ultimate goal but he can't help but think it's also because it's his favorite spot and he was leading the charge so of course he wouldn't have led anyone there. Still, it's a good place to disappear to. He spends all day there sometimes, ignoring his need for food and water and when the nightmares get too rough he's back there again, despite Hill's threats to lock him out.  
  
He should go to the Tower. As part of the team he should be with the rest of them. But he knows if he goes he won't be welcome. They've all settled in and if he comes along, bringing with him all the tension between himself and Bruce he'll ruin everything. The team will feel forced to take sides and while he knows he can always count on Tasha he doesn't want to put the rest of them in that position. It's bad for the initiative if he stirs up some internal turmoil. The best thing he can do is stay away.  
  
And even that might not be enough.

 

Bruce hadn’t even looked in the direction of cigarettes for years, but he’s itching now. He’s nervous as he buys a single box, looking around out of habit – as if he’s afraid Clint will suddenly pop out of nowehere and scold him.

 

But he doesn’t. Because he doesn’t care if Bruce kills his lungs, because he’s mad at Bruce. He feels silly for being afraid to buy them. He’s an adult, after all.

 

He’s sitting at the penthouse of Tony’s building, at the very, very edge of the walkway that will usually spin and remove the Iron Man suit. His legs dangle over the side and he looks over the city, three smashed up cigarette butts at his hip and a fourth working down to a nub between his lips.

 

"You know, I heard those aren't very good for you." A voice behind him says.  
  
Steve's smiling a little sadly as he walks up to Bruce and sits down beside him. The open pack is lying on the floor beside him and he picks it up, searching for the warning label.  
  
"We didn't have these in my day. The warning labels, I mean. No one thought cigarettes were bad for you then. They even had special asthma cigarettes. I tried them a few times, didn't like them." he says. "Turns out that's a good thing. They probably would have killed me. But you're a smart guy, you probably know all that."

 

Bruce turns the box over in his hands when it’s handed to him, and he sighs. “Yeah, I know,” he mutters, exhaling a cloud of smoke and watches as it’s carried off by the curling wind. “But I need it right now, to take the edge off. I’ve been a little tense lately, and better to shrivel my lungs than eek out and undo the repairs made on the damage to the city.”

 

"I don't want to pry Doc but something really seems to be eating you." Steve says, watching the sad man frowning down at the city. "We all did a lot of damage down there you know. So you have nothing to feel guilty about if that's it. But I don't think it is."

 

Bruce chuckles bitterly. “No, that’s not it,” he mutters, sweeping the smashed butts off the edge of the walkway and watching them float downwards until they’re too little to see. He’s silent for a moment, and he knows that Steve is waiting for him to elaborate, but for all of Steve’s good intentions, Bruce is pretty sure he’s not prepared to deal with the particular brand of shit Bruce has to give.

 

Steve sighs and looks down. He hates seeing his teammate like this. Doctor Banner seems like he's a good guy and if he can deal with Stark then he certainly can't be all bad. But he doesn't seem to want to open up and there's no way Steve can help him if he doesn't know what the problem is. "I know I'm not from around here, not really. And there's a lot of stuff I don't understand yet. But I'm a good listener Doc. And I won't think any less of you if you want to talk about it."

 

Bruce chuckles again and shakes his head. “I really doubt you can help me,” he says gently. “The attempt is appreciated, though.” He looks up at Steve’s worried face, and all he can remember is the man who met him and told him that his work with gamma radiation was the only part of him he cared about.

 

He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh, and put out the fourth nub on the roof before flicking it out into the air, holding off on lighting another one for now.

 

"I don't have to do anything to help you if you don't want me too." Steve says. "But I like to consider myself someone people can rely on. Even if it's just to hear them out. Sometimes just having someone to listen is better than having someone who tries to make things better for you."

 

Bruce feels his throat tighten and he squints his eyes to hold back the tears burning his eyes.

 

“I had someone I loved,” he started, his voice already cracking. “Someone I still love… walk back into my life very recently.” He knew Steve was already drawing connections, he knew Steve was smart enough to figure out it was Clint, but somehow pretending he was clueless made it easier for him to talk about it. “This someone left because I told them to, but then I had no way to find them after they were gone. And then it was on the news that they had died, and I thought I was never going to see them again.”

 

He pulled his legs up to sit cross-legged, and he rubbed his eyes with the heels of both hands.

 

"I'm sorry. That must be hard." Steve says sadly. "Is there anything else?"

 

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Bruce says, wetness leaking out from beneath his hands despite his best efforts to keep it in. He forgets completely to keep being ambiguous about gender – besides, he knows Steve already knows who it is, it’s not hard to figure out. “And he thinks I’m lying, and he doesn’t want to listen to the truth because it’s harder to hear than the lies he’s forced himself to believe. I don’t even know where he is right now.” His breaths come out slow now, and his voice thickens. “ _I thought he was dead_.”

 

"I'm sorry Dr. Banner." Steve says. He thinks of Bucky and how he felt watching him fall. He remembers feeling like he was dying and being so angry with himself because he should have stopped it. He can see that same pain on Bruce's face and it makes his chest ache. "But he's still here. He's on the helicarrier now but he's still alive. I'm not saying you have to talk to him or that he'll talk to you but you have a chance to at least put some of that pain to rest."

 

“He let me think he was dead on purpose!” Bruce cried, twisting the material of his pants legs. “Because he _wanted_ me to move on! He didn’t _want_ me to love him anymore!” pain was thrumming through him now and his breathing was quicker.

 

"Doc, you need to calm down." Steve says evenly. He places a hand on the man's shoulder, trying to steady him. "I don't know everything that went on but he might be upset about all of this too. I think you guys should talk to each other."

 

Bruce snuffed, trying to clear his nose. “I don’t have any idea how to even begin to contact him. SHIELD relocated the hellicarrier, and I certainly don’t have any means of getting ahold of it – and it’s not like Fury has a cell phone number. The only way I can think to get SHIELD’s attention is to Hulk out on some gas station and get them to take me in.”

 

"I'm sure Stark knows a way of contacting them that's a little less extreme. He did break into their computers after all. He must have found something useful." Steve suggests. "I'm not going to make this an order or tell you to do it for the good of the team but I think you both have a lot to say to each other. And I'm here if you need someone to help you out."

 

Bruce is hiccupping in his attempt to keep from crying, and he still has his hands pressed to his eyes. He can only nod weakly as his fingers tremble, pulling another cigarette out of the box so he can hold it between his lips. Steve does him the courtesy of lighting it with a match from a box in his pocket, not wanting Bruce to risk burning himself with his shaking fingers. One deep breath already has him calming a bit, and he nods again.

 

“I’ll ask him later,” he murmurs, looking out on the city. “I just need to think for a while.”

 

Steve nods. He takes that as his cue to leave and gives Bruce's shoulder one last reassuring squeeze before he stands up and heads back inside. Bruce will do the right thing. He knows it.  
  
But Bruce doesn't get the chance. He's still thinking three days later when there's a knock on the lab door. Tony looks up in surprise and shoots a look at Bruce. No one ever knocks. Even Steve just walks in to talk them both into coming up stairs for food every now and then. There's a second knock and Tony calls tells Jarvis to let them in, more out of curiosity than anything else.  
  
Clint stands in the doorway, looking nervous and a little sick. The shades are gone, leaving the dark bags under his eyes clearly evident on his normally tanned skin.  
  
"Hey Stark. Would you mind giving me and the doc a few minutes?"

 

Bruce feels his stomach drop, and he considers running. He’s not sure he’s ready for this. But, he concedes, he’s probably never going to be ready.

 

He swallows hard and looks over at Tony, whose eyebrows are raised as he looks between the two of them. He looks hard at Bruce, quietly asking him if he wants Tony to leave. Bruce’s breath is shaking, but he nods at Tony.

 

“I’ll be right outside,” he assures his friend before walking past Clint on his way out, giving him a pointed stare – a threat if he hurts his friend that he’ll find him and hurt him right back.

 

The door hisses shut, leaving the two of them alone in the room, and Bruce swallows again. Tony hadn’t said anything about the faint smell of cigarettes hanging around him – he’d be a hypocrite because of his own drinking – but he can’t help but feel like Clint will say something.

 

Or at least, he hopes he’ll say something. It would feel so like when he’d told Bruce to stop the first time, and he needed that familiarity.

 

"I-"Clint stops and takes a step closer. He crinkles his nose at the smell of cigarettes and it makes his stomach turn. He retreats a step to where the air is a little fresher. "You started smoking again."

 

Bruce swallows, and he knows he shouldn’t be smiling, but he is. “You still care.” he retorted quietly, his chest is tight and his eyes are hot, and he’s avoiding eye contact, but  the affirmation that Clint still gives a shit makes Bruce soar.

 

Clint looks away. He doesn't deny it because it's true and he can't lie to Bruce. And Bruce looks like he's genuinely happy. Like he really wants Clint to care about him again and it hurts too much to look at him.  
  
"I came to tell you that I quit the Initiative." he says quietly. "One of the conditions was telling you and Cap in person before Fury would sign the paperwork to have me reassigned."

 

And then Bruce’s wings disappear and he comes crashing to the ground. His throat closes up and his hands start to shake and he knows he’s having an anxiety attack.

 

“You’re leaving again?” he asks, his voice cracking and his breath coming in shorter. “You-you just got back, and you’re leaving again?”

 

"We can't work together Bruce." Clint replies, arms crossing over his chest. He glances up and Bruce looks so broken. he wants to go to him and hold him and tell him he won't leave but that'll only make things so much worse. "You can't even look at me. It's not good for the team."

 

“I’m scared!” Bruce cries, stepping closer, but Clint immediately steps back, and oh, that hurts. “I was scared that if I went anywhere near you you’d run again, and that’s worse than never seeing you again! But I was wrong, I don’t want you to go again, I won’t survive losing you a second time.”

 

"I'd run?" Clint laughs. "I'm not the one who bolted out of the restaurant Bruce. Or wouldn't come back inside. In case you forgot, you're the one who ran away. And this team needs you a lot more than they need me. I can't get between you and them."

 

“Yes, I ran, I’m not going to deny that, but I was scared then too – I’m still scared now!” Bruce says, taking two steps before Clint had the chance to back up too far, and he grabs him by the shoulders, cigarette smell be damned, he wasn’t letting him back away. “Please, don’t leave, please, _please_ don’t leave.”

 

"Bruce please," Clint says, biting back tears. He hasn't cried in front of anyone in ages and he doesn't want Bruce to see him so weak. "I can't go through this all again. You want me now and then you don't. I can't do it."

 

“That’s a lie!” Bruce cries, shaking Clint gently. “I never stopped wanting you, _never_ , I made a bad decision and I won’t say I didn’t, but I want to right it!”

 

"How? How can you right it? You kicked me out. You threw me away. All those years we had were just gone. And the next time I saw you I tried to kill you. How can anything make that better?" Clint asks, voice quiet and hollow. Bruce's hands are too warm, burning him like brands. He wants to run away but his feet won't obey his mind. He's stuck there, living one of his nightmares.

 

“I can right it if you let me try again!” Bruce says, and he doesn’t mean to keep raising his voice, but he’s desperate, and he knows he’ll die if Clint walks out that door. “I was _wrong_ to ask you to leave, but you _have to believe me_ when I said I wanted to go after you, I just didn’t realize that until after I found out I had no way to look for you. And then you died, and you’re telling me you did that on purpose, so you can’t blame me for not coming after you when you let me think you were dead!”

 

Clint sighs and finally looks Bruce in the eye. "I had to. I couldn't keep pining for you. I had you under constant surveillance and I had these terrible dreams of finding you and begging you to take me back. I couldn't keep doing it anymore and I figured if there was some way I could never go back to you it would stop. And you had Rafaela and there was the mission and it all fell so perfectly into place. And it worked."

 

“It _didn’t_ work!” Bruce’s grip tightened. “ _Nothing_ worked, and you know that! If I was under constant surveillance, then you _know_ that! If you were watching me then you _know_ I tried to _kill_ myself – because of you, because I thought you were dead, and I couldn’t live with the thought that I could never track you down again!”

 

"I-I didn't know," Clint says. He feels like he was just stabbed in the chest. He never meant to hurt Bruce like that. "I stopped getting updates after my death was announced. I'm sorry Bruce."

 

Bruce finally lets go and steps back, his eyes falling to the ground. If Clint didn’t know that, then he didn’t know about the failed attempt to get rid of the Hulk, and how badly that went in general. He didn’t know about how badly he left things with Rafaela, either, and he didn’t know about the second or third attempts on his own life.

 

“I thought I lost you, for good,” he said tiredly, taking his glasses off so he could run his hands over his face. “And I felt like it was my fault, I thought I sent you to your death because you wouldn’t have joined SHIELD if you were still living with me. That guilt nearly killed me – and it would have, if the Hulk weren’t there to save me from the bullet I tried to eat.”

 

"I wasn't trying to hurt you, Bruce. I never wanted to hurt you. That's the last thing I wanted I swear." He's crying. Hot tears, rolling down his cheeks. He hates himself for it and he tries to wipe them away before they fall but they're coming too fast.

 

“We’ve both done our fair share of hurting each other,” Bruce says, and he’s surprised he’s not crying too, but maybe that’s because he’s spent too much time crying already. “But if you leave through that door, then you take away any chance that we can heal each other.”

 

"And if I stay what happens?" Clint asks. He manages a few deep breaths and his eyes stop watering. "We can't just go back to the way things were before. I think we're both too broken for that. I know I am."

 

“We were broken before,” Bruce reminds him. “Our… pieces are just a little more jagged now. That doesn’t mean we can’t still try to fit them together.”

 

Clint is still silent, tears rolling down his face still. Bruce suddenly feels the need to say something that might do more harm than good, but he’s had enough of holding his tongue to make others feel better at his own expense, so he grabs Clint by the face and forces him to look up into his eyes.

 

“The _only way_ I am letting you walk out of that door right now is if you tell me you never want to be anything with me ever again.”

 

Clint swallows and tries to look away but Bruce won't let him. He could say it. He could be a coward and break them both a little more just because it would be easier. But Bruce looks so desperate and he loves him too much to do that to him.  
  
"I could never say that."

 

“Then stay,” Bruce’s tone is soft, but his eyes are hard.

 

Slowly Clint nods, as much as Bruce's hands will let him. He feels his knees go weak and he slumps against the older man and the tears start up again, hot and heavy, pouring down his face.

 

Bruce thinks he’s in heaven when Clint presses into him again, after so many years. His warm weight is beautiful against his own form, and he holds him close and so tight he doesn’t think he’s ever going to let go. The tears are there now and he’s crying too as Clint’s arms wrap around him strong and thick, and they hug the tears out of each other.

 

Out in the hall Tony's losing it. He had been listening closely, damning himself for soundproofing the lab. Finally he can't take it anymore and, despite Jarvis' objections, he punches in the code to unlock the door and steps inside, nearly crashing into Clint and Bruce as he does so.  
  
He stops himself before he actually hits them and stands there staring. His new bestie and Legolas are clinging to each other, sobbing their eyes out like this is some bad soap opera and dammit he wants an explanation.  
  
"Would someone care to fill me in?" he asks. "This is my lab, and if you two are going to turn it into the set of Doctor Phil I at least want to see the whole episode."

 

Bruce should probably step back, but he’s still so scared that Clint will walk out of that door and not come back that he can’t bear to let go.

 

“Clint was going to leave, I talked him out of it,” he says simply, his thumbs rubbing over the younger man’s shoulders.

 

"What? He was gonna jump ship? Leave the rest of us hanging?" Tony asks, muscling past them. "That's big of you. Can't deal with your problems so you rush off. And that's coming from me. If I think something's sick you know it's about as low as you can get."  
  
Clint tenses in Bruce's grip and pushes away, head down. Tony's right. He was being a coward. He rubs his eyes and takes a step back towards the door. "I should get back to base. I'll need to talk to Fury."

 

Bruce jerks forward and takes Clint’s wrist, fear bright in his eyes as they search Clint’s face. He’s so scared he’s not going to see him again, but he’s equally scared of following him to the carrier, because of his memories of that place and everything that happened there.

 

"If there's still a room for me here I'll get my stuff while I'm there." Clint says, looking at Tony who waves him away.  
  
"There's a floor for you." he says off handedly. "I'm not going to kick you out because you made Bruce cry."

 

Bruce is still holding Clint’s wrist, but a few gentle coos later and he’s at least mostly convinced that he’s coming back. He watches him go all the way up the stairs unblinkingly before finally conceding to let the door close, and he bears his weight down on the nearest structure that will hold him, knees quaking. He knows Tony has a hundred questions and he knows he’ll probably ask him, but for the time being he’s content to lean and shake and reel in his relief.

 

"So you two are best friends now or something?" Tony asks, leaning against his desk. "Last I remember you didn't even want to eat shawarma with the guy. Kind of ruined my little party actually."

 

Bruce swallows and stares down at his shoes until he trusts his legs to walk back over to Tony. “Yeah, I guess,” he murmurs with a little smile, taking his glasses out of his pocket to put them back on his nose.

 

"Spill doc. Or I'm going to be using you as a pin cushion again." Tony threatens with a smile. "What's going on between you two? Whole story. I don't want to have to go digging through his file."

 

Bruce swallows, running his tongue over his lips. “That part won’t be in his file. It all happened before he joined SHIELD.” He shrugs, moving back to his screen and pulling it out of screensaver mode.

 

"Everything is in everyone's file. You should see mine. I've got less in my diary." Tony says shaking his head. "Cap's is full of doctor's notes going back to elementary school. I don't think the guy ever finished a gym class. I stopped reading yours once it got past the science. I haven't started on the wonder twins yet."

 

Bruce sniffs as he looked over at Tony, but he can’t tell if he was already looking Clint up on his screen at the angle it was tilted.

 

“I already told you our history,” he says, wondering if it was even worth it to try and hide who Clint was to him.

 

"You were holding back. I know when someone is lying to me Bruce. That's what makes me so good at it." Tony grins up at him. Then his expression turns serious. "I can't help you if I don't know the whole truth."

 

Bruce swallows again, pursing his lips and scrunching his eyebrows and making every face possible before finally Tony’s deadpan gets to him and he cracks.

 

“I told you, we met in a circus,” he starts slowly. “He was an acrobat, and I… I was the freakshow attraction.” He can already see Tony’s expression flash between shock and anger. “He busted me out, killed a man, I stole the dead man’s organs because Clint was injured and performed surgery on him in a busted-down factory. You sort of have to be friends after that.” He gave a weak smile.

 

"And after that?" Tony prompted. "You had to be closer than that. I mean, Rhodey and I are friends and he saved my life plenty of times but I wouldn't get that weepy after not seeing him for a few years."

 

Bruce was a little surprised Tony wasn’t prying more on the ‘killed a man and organ-robbed him’ front, but also thankful.

 

“And then… we ran away together. Hopped the border illegally on a train, met a couple kids, who were then caught by railway security and gave us the chance to get away and escape prison.” He didn’t know why he was stalling on the biggest detail, and he couldn’t tell if Tony was clever enough to figure it out, or if he would be honestly floored by it.

 

"And when was the wedding?" Tony continues, not laughing any more. He's done beating around the bush and waiting for Bruce to come out with it. He's got Clint's file open but the first page is enough to put him off reading further. No way a guy with those kinds of trust issues runs away with just anybody.

 

Bruce sighs slowly and takes his glasses off again. “We were lovers,” he admits slowly.

 

"What about the rest? The Hulk and everything?"

 

“What?” Bruce looks up with shocked eyes. “No, he wasn’t lovers with the Other Guy!”

 

"I meant him leaving because of the Hulk." Tony rolls his eyes. "The rest of what you told me. That was all true?"

 

“Oh. Yeah, that’s true,” Bruce nods. “I thought I was going to leave right away because the doctor I was talking to didn’t say anything contrariwise, but as it turned out I had to stick around in Brazil for a few years longer before the cure would be even close to done, so the whole argument was all for naught.”

 

"And SHIELD agents aren't big on handing out their cell phone numbers." Tony finishes. He shakes his head. "And you two are getting back together? Good for you Bruce. He's pretty hot too. Not my type but good for you."

 

“Ah, I don’t… I don’t know,” Bruce says honestly. “I would like to, I never really wanted him to leave, but… I don’t think he wants to. He said he didn’t think we could, says he thinks we’re too broken. I just… I would just be happy if he doesn’t leave again, I don’t want to push my luck.”

 

Tony looks up at him, incredulous look on his face. The wheels are already turning in his head. Bruce deserves to be happy and while Clint is a little too moody for his taste if he makes Bruce happy that's good enough for him.   
  
"We'll just see about that."

 

“No, no, Tony, I know that face,” he says, shaking his head and holding his hands up as if he can physically hold Tony off of whatever crazy idea he’s concocting. “I don’t want you sticking your hands into me and Clint’s business, you’ll only mess things up by shoving them along too quickly.”

 

"Don't worry big guy. I've played matchmaker before." Tony assures him. And before Bruce can protest he puts on his head phones (a necessity if one wants to listen to loud music with Bruce around unfortunately) and tunes him out.

 

Bruce groans, and he can feel another panic attack coming on, but instead of pulling off Tony’s headphones, he instead logs onto their instant-chat and types in all capital letters,

 

_I MEAN IT TONY. NO. OH MY GOD._

Tony closes the screen and opens his new Iron Man designs. Bruce just doesn't know how much good Tony can do for him. By the end he'll be coming to him on bended knee, offering him whatever he wants as a thank you.

 

Bruce makes a series of frustrated noises before he climbs up onto the exam table to meditate and try his damndest to pretend Tony will listen to him when he really knows he won’t.


	3. Chapter 3

It takes a few days for Clint to get permission to move into the tower. He comes by the day after his and Bruce's talk to check out his floor and leave a note for Bruce saying he'll be back once everything is sorted out. He doesn't see him in person and he's a little grateful after the scene he made yesterday.   
  
When he finally does show up, duffel bag worth of possessions in tow Tony's there to greet him and glance disapprovingly over the small amount of personal effects he has.  
  
"Where are your clothes? Even I have more than one pair of shoes. This can't be all of it." he says as he leads Clint back up to his floor.  
  
"Not all of us have four houses to store things in Stark." Clint tells him. He puts his battle gear aside and tosses his duffel onto the bed.   
  
Tony shakes his head. "That's just pitiful. Romanoff had more than you." he smiles as inspiration strikes. "Tell you what, leave your stuff for now. I'll give you my credit card and you and Bruce can head into the city and do some shopping. Get you some furniture, a few posters, maybe even a lamp."  
  
"No, Tony. I'm fine with the bed and the dresser. As long as I have a shower and a toilet in the bathroom too I'm happy." Clint argues but Tony waves him off.   
  
"I insist. I'll go get Banner."  
  
He's gone before Clint can argue further.

 

“Shopping?” Bruce says when Tony approaches him. “I don’t even like to leave the lab for meals, and you think I want to go to some department store to go _shopping?_ ”

 

"You'll have Clint with you. And he's the Hulk-whisperer. If anything goes wrong he'll talk the big guy down. Besides, I need you out of the lab. Jarvis is going to be doing maintenance and no one's allowed in. I'm spending some quality time with Pepper and you are going out to play house with agent bird-brain." Tony orders, ushering him towards the stairs.

 

“Then I’ll go to my own lab,” Bruce says, referring to the lab that Tony built on his floor, that he almost never uses because he likes Tony’s company.

 

"Also under maintenance. Anything science related is under maintenance. So is the library." Tony rolls his eyes and keeps pushing him. "And your bedroom. Actually, consider anywhere in the tower you want to go under maintenance. In fact, the only things that aren’t under maintenance are Clint’s floor and Macy’s."

 

“Tony, I don’t want to go shopping – quit pushing me!” Bruce dug his heels in and spun so that Tony went shooting forward a few steps before catching himself.

 

"I want you out of my tower Bruce. For three hours. Three hours of you out in the real world and I will let you lock yourself up for the next month." Tony says. He raises his hand, index, middle and ring finger raised. "Scouts honor."

 

Bruce looks unconvinced.

 

“Bullshit. You were never a scout.”

 

"It's the spirit of the thing that matters Bruce." Tony sighs. "Now leave or I'll have you escorted out." He shrugs and starts to walk past him. "But I can tell him you'd rather spend the night cooped up in the lab than go out with him for a few hours to pick out a few sweaters."

 

Bruce runs his tongue over his lips with a sigh. “If you go back on your word I swear I will have the Other Guy sit on you,” he grunts before finally heading up the stairs with Tony’s card in hand. He abruptly runs into Clint and there’s a moment of strained silence before Clint clears his throat, startling Bruce into speech. “We’re, ahh, supposed to go shopping.”

 

"Oh. Yeah right." Clint says. He can't believe Tony managed to talk Bruce into this. "Listen, whatever Tony's threatening you with, I doubt he'd actually go through with it. You don't have to come with me if you don't want to. I know you hate crowds."

 

“N-No, I want to,” Bruce says, and he means it just enough to come across as sincere, even though the rest of him is protesting in terror. “I-I mean unless you really don’t want to, because that’s alright too.”

 

"No I do." Clint smiles a little as he looks down at the floor. "Been a while since I've been able to decorate anything. Last time I think was the tent my brother an I shared when I was fifteen."

 

Bruce coughs, and he wants to mention the house that they shared and furnished together, but he thinks it’s too soon, so he doesn’t.

 

“Um, I don’t know how we’re getting there though, do you have a car or something?” he asks instead.

 

"Tony does." Clint really grins this time and holds up a set of keys. "And I snagged these while he was bullying you."

 

Bruce’s eyes crinkle with a smile the way they always used to, and he can actually feel the wrinkles there and he knows it’s one of the very first real smiles he’s smiled since Clint left.

 

“Alright, then let’s go see which car that clicker will light up,” he says, and they giggle and guess their way down to the garage, and Bruce wonders if the light, fluttery feeling in his chest is happiness because it’s been so long he’s actually having a hard time remembering.

 

They get in the car and the ride is nice because no one has to say anything. They end up in a convertible and Clint drives fast because the roads in this part of town are still deserted. The top is down and the wind is blowing back Bruce's messy curls. He looks wonderful and Clint can't believe how much he missed him. He must have forgotten until now.  
  
They end up in the first department store they see that's still open and the minute they step inside Clint feels out of place. He's never really gone shopping, except for the few times Tasha dragged him along while she was picking up things for a mission and then he knew what he was supposed to do. Going out and shopping for himself makes him feel lost and he's not really sure how it's supposed to go.

 

But Bruce doesn’t really know how to properly shop either, and the first time they’re approached by a young female employee with the offer “Can I help you today?” they graciously accept. They can see the rest of her coworkers glowering jealously as she walks off with two of the Avengers, and works with them to find things they look good in.

 

They only need her help for about half an hour before they get into the swing of things, and they start to force each other into things that they would never normally wear, and it’s actually pretty funny to see Clint in an ugly Christmas sweater, or Bruce in a pink turtleneck.

 

“No,” Bruce says firmly when Clint holds up a lacy white thong, although he feels a little stab of something very familiar at the subtle mention of the sex life they used to have.

 

“I meant for me,” Clint grins.

 

“ _No_ ,” Bruce repeats, although there’s a playful gleam in his eyes.

 

"You're just jealous you don't have my ass." Clint says. Then it hits him that that could be taken as flirting and he's definitely not ready to take that step. He loves Bruce, still loves him, and in some ways it feels like nothing has changed. But he puts away the ridiculous thong and instead grabs a pack of men's boxer briefs and he knows too much has changed for things to go back to what they were. If he and Bruce are ever going to have anything again they'll have to start from scratch.  
  
They finish with clothes and move on to household goods. Clint grabs the first alarm clock he sees and sends it back to be held at the register with everything else and moves on to towels, stopping to stare wistfully at the cookware.

 

Bruce nudges Clint towards it, waving Tony’s card gleefully. “Splurge, this is all on Tony,” he reminds him. “No budget at all.”

 

He remembers the way Clint would get so excited over a new recipe, and how he would spend hours cooking just to sit and watch Bruce eat it and get impressed. He would give anything to see Clint like that again. 

 

"I haven't cooked in years." Clint says with a shake of his head. He remembers how relaxing it was and how much he always loved being able to make something with his own two hands. He can remember watching Bruce eagerly, waiting to see if he would love whatever he had thrown together and being so happy when he saw that smile.  
  
"I don't want to waste Tony's money." he continues but takes a step closer to a set of pots.

 

“Tony wastes Tony’s money,” Bruce reminds him. “You pick out anything you like, I’m going to go see if I can get a purple tie, I’ve always wanted a purple tie.”

 

Clint picks out a few bowls and plates but passes on the pots and pans and other cooking essentials. If he feels the urge to cook again he can always use Tony's stuff. He doesn't need his own.  
  
He joins Bruce a few minutes later to help him pick out a tie. He gravitates towards shades close to the ones used in his uniform before deciding that's a little too much like marking his territory and instead starts suggesting the brightest, most gaudy purples he can find.

 

“Clint, no, this isn’t purple, it’s fuscia,” Bruce objects as Clint holds up a tie that’s bordering on pink. “No, Clint, that has a cat on it – would you let me pick out my own tie, please?” He’s grinning though as he lifts a clear plastic box with a tie rolled up in it, closer to a mauve shade.

 

"That's nice. It'll look good on you." Clint says. He drifts away to look at the suits in distaste. He's had to wear them a few times for missions and he hates how restrictive they are.

 

Bruce decides on a simple brown blazer that would make his eyes pop, Clint realized, and they left the formal wear section far behind.

 

“Your jacket is falling apart,” Bruce tugs on a leather strip hanging off the man’s elbow. “Why don’t you pick out a new one?”

 

Clint shrugs. "I like this one. I'll patch it up when I get the time." He's had this jacket for a long time now. It's comforting in some ways. It's one of the few things of his own he has to wear that isn't sweats. Other than this and two pairs of jeans and a tee-shirt, all he has are SHIELD uniforms.   
  
He forces a smile when he looks at Bruce. "Besides, it's broken in and loose. A new one will feel too tight and I'll never wear it. Come on, I need bed sheets and Tony said something about a lamp."

 

They continue filling shopping cart after shopping cart, with that same young employee checking in on them several times to keep making suggestions and help them find things when they got lost. In total they ended up with five full shopping carts, and a new lane was opened specifically for them so they wouldn’t hold up any of the other lines with their massive purchase. Three separate employees had to help them load everything into the convertible, and they were lucky they had a back seat because the trunk didn’t fit it all.

 

“Let’s get something to eat while we’re out,” Bruce suggested, hopping over the side of the car and settling into the leather seat. “Just something quick, no sit-down restaurant or anything, you’ve got a lot of unpacking to do.” Bruce really wanted to get back to the lab, even though the night had been fun, with every perfect moment that passed, the tension mounted towards what he believed would be an inevitable horrible failure.

 

"I could use a burger." Clint admitted. He drove them away from the building and down a few side roads, stopping in front of a little hole in the wall burger joint right on the edge of Central Park. "Do you want to go in and get the food or stay and guard the car?"

 

“I think I can handle the car,” Bruce says honestly. People made him increasingly nervous the more time he spent away from Clint after he left in Brazil, and it’s gotten to the point where trying to hold a conversation was tantamount to hiding from monsters.

 

Clint shrugs and climbs out, nearly getting run over in the process. He flips the guy off before heading around the car and going inside for a few meals. He comes a few minutes later, a burger, fries and chocolate shake for himself and a much larger bag for Bruce.  
  
"I wasn't sure how hungry you were so I got you a burger, cheeseburger, large fries, chicken fingers and water because they didn't have tea." he says, handing over the bag and the cup.

 

Bruce is a little embarrassed by how much he eats, but even when dormant the Hulk gobbles up 80% of the calories he ingests (he actually did the math one day) so he forces down most of the shame.

 

“That’s perfect,” he says with a nod, and he opens the bag to see that Clint also added every kind of sauce, and the thoughtfulness warms his heart. “Oh, I don’t like eating in the car, though, so let’s find a place outside to sit down?”

 

He sort of doesn’t want the night to end all of a sudden, so they pull the top down and lock the car and walk away to a grassy patch, just at the corner of the burger joint’s artificial light, and they can almost see stars if they squint up really hard at the sky.

 

Clint hands his bag to Bruce so he can shrug off his jacket and lay it down on the grass so they can sit, feeling a little like the boyfriend in some teen romance film. He doesn't look at Bruce as he takes back his meal and sits down on the edge of the fabric, leaving most of it open for Bruce.

 

Bruce’s hips are narrower than Clint’s though, always have been, so he puts almost a half foot of space between them as he takes a seat as well, crinkling open his bag and nearly moaning at the smell of a real, greasy burger – the kind he’s avoided for so many years because they’re not good for him, but he figures he’s just taken up smoking again (though he’ll probably stop again soon too because of Clint) he can afford himself one meal of complete crap.

 

They're quiet for a while and it quickly shifts from companionable to awkward. Clint's finished his meal and Bruce is only onto his second burger. He starts twitching a little, then finally stands up to stretch because he needs something to do god dammit. He has so many questions to ask and things he wants to say but he has no idea where to start.

 

Bruce has questions like that, too, but he’s pretty sure most of them are hurtful. He tries for the least painful of the bunch, knowing it will still dig up some shit, but he has to know.

 

“You and Natasha, you’re pretty good friends,” he murmurs in question, and Clint nods. “Really good friends, right? Why… why didn’t you ever tell her about me?”

 

"Talking about the one who got away isn't usually considered proper pillow talk." Clint admits. He drains his shake and wishes he had something stronger. "And then she and I weren't a thing anymore and I knew she would either go down there and drag you back for me or tell me to forget about you. Neither option was all that appealing."

 

Bruce swallows hard as he dipped one of the chicken strips into a generous amount of barbeque sauce, and ranch immediately after. He takes a bite and chews and swallows before speaking again.

 

“She said I wasn’t worth mentioning,” he says thickly, before silencing himself with another bite.

 

"No! No it was nothing like that." Clint assures him. He almost reaches out and touches Bruce's hand but stops for fear of where that might lead or what Bruce might do if he makes that step. Instead he drops his head down so Bruce can't see how badly he's blushing. "It's more that you were something I wanted to keep to myself. I didn't tell anyone other than Fury."

 

“I was your dirty little secret?” Bruce turns his head to look at Clint with sad eyes.

 

"Not dirty. Sacred." Clint says and then grabs Bruce's water so he has something to do with his mouth before he says anything worse.

 

Bruce chokes then, and Clint quickly hands him his water back so he can clear his throat, tears welling up in his eyes, and he’s glad he can blame them on the choke, even though his nose is steadily clogging up.

 

Clint saw him as _sacred_ and somehow that meant more to him than all the words in the world, and it almost made up for pretending to be dead so Bruce wouldn’t look for him.

 

"I'm sorry you know. About the Loki thing. I shouldn't have done that to you. I'm just glad you weren't hurt." Clint says, standing up again because he needed to move. He felt like he was choking whenever he mentioned Loki. His chest got tight and it was like he was being pressed into some tiny little box where he had no air.

 

Bruce passes his drink from hand to hand as he ran his tongue over his lips, considering his next words carefully.

 

“Yeah, but now you really know how it feels.”

 

“How what feels?” Clint wheels around, wondering if he should be getting angry.

 

“How it feels to be completely out of your own control.” Bruce looks up at Clint seriously.

 

"I wasn't out of my control." Clint says bitterly. That was the worst part. "If he had just been using my body I wouldn't give a damn. I'm a tool, I can work with that. But he didn't control me. He changed me. He made me want it. I was in there the entire time. I was in control. Every action I took was my own. He made me want it. He made me want to hurt those people. He made me enjoy attacking my friends. I loved it Bruce. When he was pleased with me I was so happy, Bruce. And that was me. Those were my feelings. My thoughts. He twisted my loyalties. He twisted my wants and desires. He made me want him more than anything else in this god damned world."  
  
Clint stops, chest heaving and body shaking. There's sweat on his brow that wasn't there before and despite the coolness of the night he's burning up. One hand is rubbing his chest, right over his heart and he can feel Loki's scepter and he wants to rip it away. To tear it all out of him so he knows it isn't there anymore.

 

“It wasn’t you, though, not if he changed you,” Bruce shakes his head and sips his water. “Even if it’s not a perfect comparison, nobody knows what you went through better than me.”

 

"You don't know Bruce. Even you don't know. I would take what you have a thousand times over what that was like." Clint said coldly. He picked up his empty bag and started heading back towards the car. "I'm ready to go home now if that's alright with you."

 

Bruce stares after Clint with a sigh. He knew the night would end like this, and now it’s his fault. Which is probably better than it being Clint’s fault, because he doesn’t think he could handle that.

 

He packs up his uneaten food with the intention to finish it later, putting the bag in his lap as he slips into the passenger seat, eyes downcast.

 

They get back to the tower and Bruce helps Clint bring everything up to his rooms. They leave everything piled in the main room, what Clint is to understand is his living room, and each grab a bag of clothes for the bedroom. Clint drops the stuff on the bed and opens his duffel bag, taking things out and setting them into piles.  
  
"I'm sorry." he says when Bruce starts to leave. He doesn't look up but continues his work. "I didn't mean to ruin everything I just...I don't like- talking about it." He's rubbing at his chest again. "I'm sorry. That's all."

 

“I thought maybe I could relate with you,” Bruce says softly. “But if it’s so different I guess never mind.” He steps towards the door.

 

"Bruce wait!" Clint calls, getting off the bed and moving around it. He doesn't go to the door but he doesn't have to. Bruce is still there. "Thank you. You are probably the only person who has any idea what it was like. I'm not trying to be an ass I swear."

 

Bruce wants to say something in response, but his eyes are caught by a glint near the corner, and he looks over, and his heart stops.

 

Leaned up against the wall, unstrung and looking very well used, but very well taken care of, is the bow that Bruce got for Clint as a gift when they were living together in Brazil. Most of its patterns were worn out of places by overuse in Clint’s hands, and he can see where Clint took care to rub out scratches.

 

His breath hitches, and he falls back against the nearest wall, blatantly staring at it. He can’t believe after everything Clint still kept it, and treated it with such care, when he should have been so angry with Bruce he should have smashed it.

 

Clint turns and sees the bow. His face heats up and he hurries over to it, putting it away in the top drawer of his dresser. He hadn't meant for Bruce to see that. He had kept it all these years because he couldn't bear the thought of losing it. It had meant so much to him when he had gotten it from Bruce. He had wanted to hold onto that feeling. But he hadn't meant for Bruce to see.  
  
"Sentimental value." he tells him, trying to write it off like it's nothing. "And it was so beautiful. I couldn't get rid of it."

 

Bruce is looking down and nodding, emotion flooding through him so fast he’s dizzy. “I need to get back to the lab,” he mutters thickly, feeling too exhausted to sleep.

 

"I'll walk you." Clint says.  
  
The entire way down to the lab there's a tension around them. It sparks and crackles like electricity. Clint can feel it pressing against him. Bruce saw the bow which means he must know now. Clint can feel that knowledge weighing on him. They're at the foot of the stairs and Bruce's hand brushes his and something in Clint snaps. Maybe it's the exhaustion or maybe it's the tension after their almost perfect day but suddenly Bruce is against the wall and he's holding him by the arms, their eyes locked and faces close enough that he can hear his breath catch in his throat.

 

Bruce’s eyes close in invitation, his heart is pounding in his chest, his groin is tightening, his body is ready to take flight. He can feel Clint’s breath on his lips, he’s so close.

 

And then suddenly the door opens and Tony has two different pens in his mouth and wide eyes in shock, because he honestly didn’t mean to interrupt anything, and his hands fly up in defense.

 

“Sorry!” he says, backing into the lab, both pens falling to the ground with a loud clatter. The moment is lost.

 

Clint lets go of Bruce, eyes widening in fear. He had almost – after just a day – He can't take it. He turns and runs up the stairs, leaving Bruce alone in the hall. It's cruel and he knows it. He gets to his room nearly in tears at his own cowardice and in his frustration punches the first thing he can which happens to be the mirror hanging beside his dresser. It cracks and the shards cut his fist but they're minor. He can deal with them with a few band-aids later.

 

Bruce slumps breathlessly against the wall as the sound of Clint’s boots fades, his hopes crashing into the ground again as frustration mounts because of Tony, and what could have happened if he hadn’t walked out of the lab so suddenly.

 

Picking up the pens the billionaire dropped, he let himself into the lab and promptly pegged them at Tony one at a time, one striking him across the side, and the other would have hit him in the face if he hadn’t lifted his forearm in defense.

 

“Some matchmaker you turned out to be,” he snapped, but his words are more tired than vicious.

 

"Hey, don't blame me! Jarvis should have warned me that the two of you were about to go at it in the stairwell." Tony says, grinning. "But you have to admit, I'm good. One date and the guy's ready to tear your pants off."

 

“No, Tony, it wasn’t like that,” Bruce says, his voice a little harder now as he takes his place at his usual screen. “He was going to _kiss_ me. That’s very different from lust, you didn’t see the look in his eyes…” he cut himself off there before he went too far with it.

 

Tony smirks. "This is about love isn't it? You don't just want to get into his pants. You want the whole thing. Dinner and snuggling and Christmas with the family." He laughs and rolls his eyes. "Hey I get that. Despite popular belief I can fall in love. I'll help you out, don't worry. We just need Jarvis to do his job and keep an eye out for me."

 

“I apologize, sir, I was otherwise occupied,” Jarvis said pleasantly from the ceiling.

 

The resulting argument between Tony and Jarvis about what the hell could an AI be ‘otherwise occupied with’ was lost on Bruce, who was still reeling at Tony’s love confession for him. He’d known for many, many years that he was deeply in love with Clint, but hearing it from Tony made it sound a lot more real. If Tony could tell after only a couple days knowing their situation, it must be something fairly obvious. 

 

"Did you ever tell him?" Tony asks when he and Jarvis finish arguing, which is mostly him yelling at the AI. He looks over at Bruce who doesn't seem to hear him. "Hey, doc. I'm asking you a question. Did you ever tell him how you felt?"

 

Bruce swallowed hard and looked down. “I told him I cared about him,” he nodded. “I told him he was important to me. I never… I never said I loved him. But he didn’t ever say it either, so…”

 

He knew it was a lousy excuse, and his chest felt tight thinking about all the times he could have said it, so easily, and how maybe they never would have had a falling out if Clint knew just how much he’d _loved_ him.

 

"Maybe this time around you will." Tony says, shaking his head. "Now we just have to get birdie to leave his nest."


	4. Chapter 4

Which is easier said than done. Clint hides away for a few days, claiming to be unpacking whenever anyone tries to coax him out into the open. He can't believe he slipped up like that. There's no way Bruce won't know how strongly he feels about him now. He almost let all the distance he had built up fall away because he wants Bruce so badly and he won't make that mistake again. Distance is what's best for both of them, no matter how much he might want to return to their old closeness.  
  
When he does leave he sticks close to Natasha. Whenever he's in the common areas he's with her, sitting at the bar or making sandwiches or lounging on the sofa, her head in his lap or her toes tucked under his legs while she throws popcorn at his head and he catches it in his mouth. There's no opening for Tony to try to set him up with Bruce again.

 

Bruce even tried once. He walked right up to Clint and asked him if they could talk, but Natasha quickly swooped in, informed the man that no, they couldn’t, and took Clint away. Bruce was crestfallen.

 

“I don’t know… if it’s worth it,” he said to Tony a few days later in the lab. “Natasha has been circling him like a lioness, and I can’t even get near without her getting really protective and angry with me.”

 

"We just need to get rid of her for a little while. They have to separate sometime." Tony huffs. He's getting frustrated but he wants Bruce to be happy so dammit he's going to get him some alone time with Clint. "What if she goes away on a mission? I bet if we ask Coulson nicely enough he'll get her out of the way for a few days."

 

“He’s clinging to her just as hard though, he’d go with her,” Bruce shakes his head. “He’s _avoiding_ me. He looks at me and takes off running in fear… I don’t know if this is going to work, Tony.”

 

"Then we corner him." Tony snaps his fingers and smiles, his eyes lighting up the way the do whenever he has a bad idea. "After he gets off the range. He never lets anyone near him then, not even her. He just goes to his room. You just have to catch him in the hall before he gets there."

 

“No, I’m not going to corner him, I’m not some kind of predator,” Bruce says sternly. “He… he doesn’t want a relationship with me. And that’s… fine. That’s okay. I’m not going to _force_ myself on him. You might be comfortable with something like that, but I’m just not, okay?”

 

"Don't be stupid. We all know you're not. He wants you. He almost kissed you once already." Tony says smugly. "And I saw the way he was looking at you. He was desperate. A little more alone time and he'll be all over you, I promise."

 

“No, Tony, stop it.” Bruce slams his hands down a little bit too hard, maybe, but it certainly got Tony quiet and paying attention. “I don’t _want_ him all over me! I don’t want to start in running to the bedroom! I can’t _do_ that like you can, Tony! In fact, I’d be perfectly content never having sex again if it just meant I could wake up next to him and watch him cook like he likes and rub his shoulders after he shoots and watch rainstorms with him and hold his hand, I would give up sex for good if I could have that! I don’t _want_ your brand of help. Stay _out_ of it.” His voice escalates as he speaks, getting nearly to the point of shouting, and if he wasn’t so worked up he might have been impressed with the fact that he has Tony Stark shutting up and listening obediently.

 

"Alright, I got it." Tony says. He can see Bruce watching him skeptically, still seething under the surface. He rolls his eyes and holds his eyes up in a gesture of surrender. "I mean it. Stark Matchmaking Service is officially closed. No more help from me. You two can pine for each other all you want, I won't interfere. Now go cool your head big man."  
  
It takes a little more persuading but he finally gets Bruce to leave the lab. As soon as the door shuts behind him he sinks back into his seat, smirking to himself.  
  
"You got all that Jarvis? I want every word of his confession saved into my private files."

 

“Done, sir,” Jarvis says, although he sounds hesitant. “Are you sure this is a good idea? You did just tell him you were not going to interfere anymore, did you not?”

 

"He's my friend Jarvis. And sometimes to help a friend you have to lie a little. Besides, this is just insurance." Tony answers, already turning his attention back to his work. "And you're not allowed to say anything to him."

 

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis sighs.

 

Bruce is pacing in the hall, wringing his hands, and weighing the merits of taking some of Tony’s advice and going down to the range. He wouldn’t be cornering Clint of course, just talking to him. But he’s scared. So many things could go so horribly wrong.

 

He swallows and heads towards the range. He must have turned back six times before finally he stood in front of the door. And, to his horror, Natasha is coming down the hall right for him.

 

“Hello,” he says feebly, unable and unwilling to make eye contact with her.

 

"Don't bother. He'll just take your head off." Natasha tells him. She stops in front of him, barring his path. "He won't talk to anyone while he's in there, not even me. So whatever you’re planning forget it. Just leave him alone."

 

He considers walking away, before hardening his expression slightly and pulling himself up straighter. “He’ll talk to me,” he says firmly. “I have every right to speak with Clint, and I’m not going to let you bully me, Agent Romanoff.”

 

"You don't understand. He doesn't let anyone near him when he's training." she growls, closing in on him. She's smaller than him but every inch of her exudes power and intimidation. "He never has. He closes off and for the next few hours when he's off the range if anyone looks at him for too long he takes their head off. I'm not going to let you upset him."

 

“It won’t be like that with me,” Bruce says confidently, keeping his shoulders square and his tone even as he looks down at her. He remembers years ago when he would rub Clint’s shoulders every time he finished shooting, how every night he would rub oils into his hands to keep them from getting sore. He praised Clint for his shooting, reaffirmed his abilities and encouraged him. He was never anything but positive about the whole experience, and he knows that Clint feels the same way.

 

She glares at him for a moment longer before gracefully stepping aside. "Your funeral."

 

“You can go,” he tells her firmly. “I’m not about to go walking in there while he’s still shooting. I’ll wait until after. But I don’t want you here to scrutinize every single breath I take.”

 

She mutters something in Russian that sounds like a curse and folds her arms tight over her chest to keep from hitting him. They stand together for a moment, each staring the other down before she finally turns and continues down the hall, leaving him alone. His nerves are racing and he can hardly believe he just had a stand off with Black Widow and won.

  
On the range Clint nocks another arrow. He eyes the target, pulls back, and releases, breathing out as the arrow flies through the air. He closes his eyes, trying to clear his mind. He's off today. He isn't even shooting to train anymore, now he's just making random patterns with the arrows. This one is a star. Usually shooting is enough to empty his mind. His body can take over and he can zone out but not tonight. Tonight his mind is screaming at him and even through the flurry of arrows he's unleashed that almost kiss keep coming back to him.  
  
"Idiot." he mutters to himself and presses the button for a new target.  
  
He made a mistake. He let himself relax around Bruce and that was mistake number one. Mistake number two he had touched him. He'd touched his hand and felt that familiar warmth for the first time in years and it had been too much. The dam had broken and thank god for Tony Stark. If he hadn't ruined the moment he could only imagine where they would be now.  
  
Nock, draw release. A new pattern is starting to emerge on the target but he can't quite make it out yet.  
  
If they got back together it would be a disaster. He's far more broken than he was last time and Bruce had thrown him out then. If he even knew the extent of what Clint's done over the years or even a fraction of what he did with Loki...  
  
He pulls himself away from that train of thought, startled by the lack of arrows in his quiver. He looks up and sees that his last arrows had begun to form a snake.  
  
The cold of the room starts to seep into his skin and he drops his bow, abandoning it on the floor as he rushes to the door.  
  
Of course he first thing he sees when he enters the hall is the second to last person he wanted to see.  
  
"What are you doing down here Bruce?" his voice is hard.

 

Bruce flinches at the icy tone. “I was… um, I wanted to talk,” he cleared his throat and stepped up from where he had been leaning against the wall. He can see panic in Clint’s eyes, so he doesn’t approach. “Are you free to talk?”

 

"I don't like talking after I've been training." Clint replies half heartedly. Bruce is different from the others. He never had a problem being around people after practice before his years with Bruce. But after losing him any time he spent with people after his training had been torture. It just reminded him of all those nights when Bruce would take care of him and it had hurt too much. So he didn't talk to people and he especially never let them touch him when he was done. It made his shoulders tight and his arms ache but he would never let anyone else do what Bruce had done for him.   
  
But this is Bruce, and whether he talks to him or not he's not going to be able to avoid thinking about him so there's no point in avoiding it.  
  
"I've got a few minutes." he concedes, leaning against the wall. "What did you want to talk about?"

 

Bruce wrings his hands together, realizing he hadn’t even thought this far ahead.

 

“Um, well, how about we move someplace a little more comfortable? There’s a lounge just down the hall. And, um… I- I could rub your shoulders.” He’s so afraid of rejection. It was a ritual for them, something they did almost every day, and if Clint said no, he wasn’t sure if his heart could take it. He desperately sought affirmation for the relationship they once had, and can’t be sure he won’t insist if Clint tried to decline.

 

Clint tenses. He's not sure if he can handle that. But Bruce looks so desperate and broken and Clint could never say no to him. He could never hurt him more by turning him away. And he's missed the way those hands felt on him, helping him work out the soreness training always created in his arms and shoulders and back.  
  
Slowly he nods. "Alright. But not the lounge. I don't want to be out in the open. We can go to the living room on my floor."

 

The elevator ride up is one of the tensest of Bruce’s life. Even the elevator ride up to the “Top Floor” of the government facilities he’d been to were more serene than that ride. He’s happy to be out of the confined space, and before long, they’re sitting on the couch in Clint’s living room.

 

And he still can’t think of a thing to say.

 

So he busies himself with hand cream instead, and when he turns around to use it on Clint’s back, and maybe say something, he forgets how to breathe. He once thought that Clint had been a solidly built boy, but he had been a limp napkin in comparison to how he looks now.

 

His back is hard ridges and deep slopes of firm muscle that nearly glowed, it was so tanned. His arms, which were never hidden much, seemed that much larger when Bruce could follow the hue of his skin from his back to his shoulders and down those rangy biceps. His back slopes into a small waist and strong hips, just like Bruce remembers, but maybe a few more scars.

 

He swallows. His mouth is dry.

 

He sits on the couch behind Clint and he can already see the tension in his body, but he’ll work that out of him. He lathers his hands with the lotion and immediately sets to work on his shoulders, first, where the tension is being carried.

 

Clint bites back a moan as those hands start to knead and soothe away the knots that have developed over the last seven years. He feels so good and for a moment all that time away from each other melts away and he's back in that little shack in Brazil. He's missed this so much. He's missed Bruce and the way Bruce always took care of him.  
  
A few tears trickle out of the corners of his eyes. He wants to turn around and lean against Bruce, bury his face in his chest and beg for his forgiveness. He wants to be able to come back to this every time he leaves the range but he knows he can't.

 

“So,” Bruce starts unsteadily, but his hands are sure. He swallows, but he can’t back out now that he’s officially started a sentence. “How… uh, I mean,” he coughs. Clears his throat. Coughs again. “How’s your shooting been?”

 

He curses himself. He knows Clint knows that’s not what he really wants to talk about, but it left his mouth unbidden all the same.

 

"Perfect. And it gets better everyday." Clint tells him. Bruce is holding something back. He has an idea of what it is but he waits for Bruce to say it instead of pushing. Better to let the man do things at his own pace.

 

Bruce swallows again, licks his lips. “Good, that’s good. I’d like to watch you some time, if you’d let me.”

 

Clint only nods, with a soft “mh.”

 

There’s silence for a while, the only noise is the slick, slimy sounds of the lotion being massaged into his shoulders, and Clint’s slightly heavy breathing.

 

“Why have you been avoiding me?” Bruce asks finally.

 

The tension that had eased out of Clint's shoulders is back in a second. He can feel the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. He would run but he's already done that to Bruce once and he won't do it again.  
  
A few deep breaths and he manages to relax his shoulders again and get his mind under control enough to answer.  
  
"I was scared." he admits. "What we would have done if Tony hadn't shown up. It wouldn't have just been a kiss Bruce, you know that."

 

“We were in a stairwell. I’m pretty sure it would have been just a kiss,” Bruce argued, shaking his head.

 

 "It would have meant something. We have too much history for it not to and way too much between us. And I'm a reckless idiot, you know that." he laughs shakily.

 

“Would it have been so bad if it had meant something?” Bruce asks quietly, and his hands still.

 

Clint cringes. "I already told you I'm broken. I'm broken into more pieces than I ever thought possible. I don't know if I will ever be able to put them back together. And things have changed. We've lost seven years and we didn't know that much about each other to begin with. If we started now it would end in absolute disaster. I might want to grab onto you and never let go but I can't. We can't."

 

Bruce swallows thickly and begins to move his hands again, though they are shaking now. “And do you really think it would be better to not even try? Just assume it will go bad and not put any effort forward, because of what _could_ happen?” the lotion is almost rubbed in now, and Bruce’s hands have worked out an innumerable amount of knots.

 

"I want to Bruce." Clint says, hanging his head and leaning back into Bruce's hands. The way the feel is absolutely divine. He never wants it to end. "I want to so badly. I would give anything to have the kind of relationship we had before but you know nothing about me. And all I know about you is that you had a crap childhood and are smarter than I will ever be. And I've changed and I'm scared. I thought some of the things I had done before were bad but they're nothing compared to what I've done recently."

 

“I’ve done bad things too,” Bruce murmurs quietly. “I attacked Harlem a while back when the ah… cure didn’t exactly go to plan. Hurt a lot of people that day. We’re heroes now, and casualties… well, they’re part of the job description. It doesn’t matter to me what bad you’ve done because, honestly, _saving the world_ sort of balanced it out.”

 

"It really doesn't." Clint says sadly. "It helps sure. But it doesn't wipe the slate clean. And you didn't do anything. _The Hulk_ attacked Harlem. I saw it. I did a lot of bad stuff. On my own, by my power. Even without Loki in my mind."

 

“We’re not the best people in the world, but what matters is that we’re trying. I don’t want to punish you for something you’ve done in the past, especially if you’re punishing yourself already. Why would I need to do it as well?” the lotion is rubbed in now, and most of the knots are gone, but Bruce doesn’t want to stop touching Clint just yet.

 

"Because I deserve it. I deserve to be punished by you, by me, by SHIELD, by anyone. I fucked up. I fucked up a lot. I fucked up in ways I can't even talk about without getting sick. And no matter how much I l-like you I am not going to dirty you with all of that." Clint says with more force than anything else he's said so far. Even his little stutter where he nearly revealed the depth of his feelings for Bruce is almost unperceivable beneath the conviction in his words.

 

But he feels Bruce’s arms coil around his waist anyway, and Bruce’s cheek presses against his back.

 

“I don’t want to punish you,” he murmurs. “I want to have you. I want to hold you, like I used to. I want to at least try.”

 

Clint leans back against him, his will crumpling under those hands and the soft words muttered against his skin. It feels so good to be held by Bruce again. It's fantastic and he doesn't think he could walk away even if he really wanted to. And Bruce doesn't seem eager to let him go.  
  
"If we do we have to go slow." Clint says carefully. "Building up to where we used to be. Last time we just fell into bed together but that won't work now."

 

Bruce smiles and noses a scar running lengthwise across the back of Clint’s neck. “I can work with that. Anything, I will take anything you will give me, even if it’s the smallest thing, I will take it.” His voice sounds maybe a little desperate, but he’s in a rush to get all his words out before he begins to cry again.

 

"I'll cook dinner tomorrow." Clint says slowly. He needs time to get his head together and think all of this through. "For the two of us. We can start there."

 

Bruce nods, but he really doesn’t want to pull away just yet. “I’ll come here?” he offers. “Around… eight?”

 

“Eight,” Clint nods, but he doesn’t want Bruce to pull away just yet either.

 

Bruce desperately wants to kiss those expansive shoulders, that solid neck, but he doesn’t dare. They can’t go right into physical, and certainly not sexual, they can’t. He will take his time, he will learn Clint, he will own him and he will fix him. But that won’t happen if they fall into their old pattern of talking about nothing important and then fucking until they’re too tired to move.

 

So he lets go. His arms itch to be filled with Clint’s body, and he feels cold, but he lets go.

“I want to keep doing this,” he says, the smell of the lotion lingering on his hands. “I want to rub you down every time you come off the range, just like I used to. Please, let me do this.”

 

"I spend a lot more time on the range now. Sometimes I don't leave for days. I go down there all hours of day and night and I come back in the same way. Every time could mean getting you up at three in the morning sometimes." Clint warns him as he turns to face his new...something. It's not a refusal but he wants Bruce to understand what he's getting into.

 

“Wake me up then,” Bruce insists. “I want to be here for you. I want to rub your shoulders like I used to. I want that familiarity, please. Let me do this for you. Give me this.”

 

Clint sighs and wraps his arms around Bruce, leaning forward to bury his face in his neck. He breathes in his scent and is happy to find that under the scent of chemicals and hot metal, courtesy of Tony's lab, he still smells like Bruce. He inhales deeply and then slowly lets it out, his whole body relaxing as he exhales.  
  
"Yes. Yes of course. I'd like that."

 

Bruce rests his cheek against the side of Clint’s head, feeling more at peace than he has in years. He isn’t even close to tears, he’s just calm and content and so happy he could burst.

 

“I’ll leave you to, ah… shower or something, then,” Bruce clears his throat and pulls back, as much as he would like to push Clint down and kiss and kiss him. He stands up from the couch, his knees feel weak. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

He rubs his thumb in a stripe down Clint’s jaw, gives him an award-winning smile, and leaves the apartment in spirits so high, he’s riding them through the stratosphere.

 

Clint falls back onto the couch, sighing loudly. He can't believe he just agreed to this. It's ridiculous and can only end in disaster. But at the same time he's deliriously happy. He has Bruce back. It's not the same, not yet. But they're trying and that means something.

 

Bruce walks back into the lab looking like he’s the cat that ate the canary, who also happened to win the lottery, and who also just got laid. He sees Tony, who immediately starts to smirk suspiciously, because he knows that expression.

 

“What?” Bruce asks innocently, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he takes his usual place at his computer.

 

"I haven't seen anyone that happy since my birthday." Tony laughs. "So whose floor are you two going to be living on and when do I start baby proofing the tower?"

 

“It’s not like that,” Bruce chuckled, shaking his head. “Not… not yet, at least. We’re taking it slow.”

 

"Long engagement, got it. So how far did you get? Please tell me it was at least second base." Tony teases, smiling at his friend. Bruce's smile makes the whole lab seem a little brighter and it's great. He loves it. The less doom and gloom around the office the better.

 

Bruce frowned now, but even that was in good humor. “I told you, Tony, I’m doing this my way. Which means as far off the path of _your way_ as possible. We’re not even _thinking_ about intimacy right now. We’re going to have dinner tomorrow night, and that’s it. We have a lot of catching up to do, and that requires conversation.”

 

"Conversation is dull. Conversation doesn't mean anything. Pepper and I have never had a conversation and I couldn't live without the woman." Tony laughs. "Besides, he's a young guy. He's going to be itching to get into bed sooner rather than later."

 

“Don’t be so quick to assume that every man is like you, Tony,” Bruce shook his head, his smile a little subdued. “Clint’s pretty broken up, about us parting ways and coming together so abruptly, about his time spent with Loki… I don’t know all the details, but I know that they aren’t good, and I am not going to let him fuck the memories out of himself, because that is _never_ a good thing. So please, do me a favor and stop asking me every time you see me if we’ve gotten into bed yet, okay? I’ll… I’ll let you know, if it happens, alright?”

 

“ _If?_ ” Tony repeats.

 

“Yes, if,” Bruce repeats right back, sterner. “I already said it before, I will spend a hundred years with him without ever having sex if that’s what it takes to keep him by my side. You might not be able to understand that kind of love, Tony, but it’s real, and I feel it. I don’t need sex with him to be happy.”

 

Tony looks down at his work bench, not smiling anymore. "I do get it. I'd love Pepper no matter what. I've never been in a situation where the other person hasn't wanted to have sex but if she decided that that was what she wanted...I'd still love her. It's a beautiful you and Clint have. I just hope it all works out."

 

Bruce is smiling though as he looks over at Tony, who looks more serious than Bruce has ever seen him, even more than when they were in the lab on the helicarrier, comparing the Hulk and the Arc Reactor.

 

“You’re an exceptionally good man, Tony, and I don’t think enough people tell you that,” he says, and Bruce is very confident that he’s picked the perfect person to be his best friend.

 

"Nah. I'm an asshole." Tony laughs, his eyes bright and cheery again as he smiles at Bruce. "But I'm a genius asshole with a smokin' hot girlfriend so I'm happy. Now let's blow something up."

 

“Actually,” Bruce cleared his throat. “Um, between the time I attacked New York, and when I got picked up for the initiative, I was… ah… I was doing a little bit of digging. In my own DNA. And I think… and this is just a theory, but I think… instead of removing the Hulk’s DNA from where it’s twined with mine, I think it’s possible I could… sort of combine it, just a little bit. I mean, just a very little bit. There’d be some obvious changes in both me, and the Other Guy, namely, I’d have more control over him, and… well, he’d probably have a little bit more over me too. It’d be a sort of middle ground, I guess. But I think it’d be a lot safer, for all parties involved.”

 

Tony was looking very interested now, his brows raised and his attention focused solidly.

 

“I mean, it’s just a theory.” Bruce repeated, twirling a pen. “I haven’t even put a whole lot of research into it, it’s just guesswork right now. I think a third party should be involved, too, you’re… ah, you’re a little bit too close to it, no offense. I mean… we’re friends, right? I might be pushing it if I say best friends, but you have… feelings for the Other Guy.” Tony makes a face at this, and Bruce chuckles. “I don’t mean romantically, I just mean in general. He saved your life, so naturally, you have feelings towards him. I’d like at least one totally unbiased person involved.”

 

"I'll ask Pepper to dig someone up. She's good at that sort of thing." Tony's grinning now. He loves new projects and this is a field of science he's barely touched before. It might even be a challenge. "Meanwhile, we'll need to set up some safeguards against possible Hulk outs and you should go warn your sweetheart that you might be getting a little meaner in the near future. And I'll update my will, just in case."

 

Bruce makes a face at Tony, but nothing can ruin his good mood. “I doubt I’ll be getting any meaner towards Clint. He’s the only person that the Other Guy really likes,” he chuckled. “And… can you ask Pepper to look for like, students? Or just recently graduated? I… I like young, brilliant minds. I like to be reminded what young people are capable of.” He decides it’s okay not to mention that he’s nervous of just about everyone but children, except children couldn’t help with the project, so young students are the best he can hope for. “Have her like, send out a prompt to write us a paper or something. And then we can read them over and pick one out that we think has promise.”

 

"You can read them. I trust your judgement." Tony says, faking a shudder at the thought of reading some grad students’ application essays. "Jarvis you heard the man, send Pepper an email for me. And then let's start working on some blueprints for the Hulk cage."


	5. Chapter 5

They worked for most of the night before Bruce decided it was bed time for him, while Tony elected to stay up a while longer. Bruce was so excited he just continued to squirm in bed, and he didn’t even realize he’d fallen asleep until he was waking up the next morning.

 

Another long day in the lab and papers are already flooding in, and Bruce’s date with Clint is drawing nearer, and he’s strangely nervous. He wonders if he should dress up, but it’s just an apartment date, so he’d look silly if he dressed nice. He doesn’t want to look sloppy either, though, so he wears the yellow button up Tony got for him, that he hasn’t worn since Central Park, and very casual black slacks, that almost counted as sweat pants if it weren’t for the seaming. He even shows up barefoot, his toes curling in the soft carpet.

 

Clint is wearing a white tank top that should be outlawed on a body like his, and jeans that cupped him in all the right places, and Bruce has to fight really hard to keep his eyes above the man’s collar bone. It’s remarkable how fine he’s grown up to be – not only in the body, but also in the face. Strong, dark eyes with lashes a mile long, a strong nose and a firm jaw, and cheekbones that you could sharpen a knife on. His whole physique, in a nutshell, has become very _square_ , and damn if it didn’t suit him perfectly. Bruce was still taller than him. Somehow, he liked that.

 

Clint looks up and smiles a little sheepishly. He takes Bruce into the small living room/dining room where the table is almost finished being set. He decided against candles earlier but there is a nice new table cloth and real plates instead of paper like he usually uses. He finishes setting out the silverware before heading back to the kitchen, looking over his shoulder to see if Bruce is following him. He is.  
  
"I made pasta with sausage in a cream sauce. I hope that's alright with you. I would have made something a little more impressive but I didn't have much here to work with. I don't even have my own pots and pans, I borrowed some from Pepper." he says, blushing a little. "And I have wine if you'd like some. If not I can make you tea. Or just soda. I'm sorry, I'm babbling. I'm nervous." he laughs shakily, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

 

“This isn’t our first time having dinner together, Clint,” Bruce reminds him gently, even though he’s distractedly floored by the smell of dinner. “Wine is fine. And everything is going to be okay.”

 

The food was heavenly. The wine, too. As they sat and ate, their conversation became less and less strained, and it started to flow more easily. Their hands met across the table after they ate, and they didn’t separate. They didn’t really talk about the things that needed talking about – like Clint’s time with Loki, or Bruce’s failed attempt to cure himself from the Hulk. He didn’t even tell Clint about the new project he was undertaking. They didn’t need that heaviness on them right then, it was okay to pretend everything was alright for a little while. Get back into the swing of things before they started bringing in the hard stuff.

 

Bruce left that night feeling well-fed and rejuvenated. He could hardly believe he’d just been on a date with Clint again after so long. And the next day in the lab, he’s all smiles again, but Tony doesn’t even ask him if they fucked, and that’s wonderful because Bruce really doesn’t even want to think about that. He reads a few papers, nothing stands out to him. They do a little DNA testing alongside creating a containment cell for the Hulk, with considerably less _glass_ than the one on the helicarrier.

 

They spend a lot of time in the lab. Tony leaves every now and then to spend time with Pepper but mostly they work. Clint comes down sometimes. He'll bring a sandwich for Bruce and be a smartass with Tony. He looks at some of the papers and leaves because they're well over his head. But he comes back when he gets off the range and steals Bruce away for a while.  
  
Everyday there are new essays. Nothing great, nothing that stands out. Tony piles them on Bruce's desk and will sometimes look at one or two and then turn them into increasingly more impressive paper airplanes.

 

And every day Bruce can tell that Tony wants to ask if they’ve screwed yet, but he’s very grateful the other man hasn’t.

 

His time spent with Clint is miraculous, he’s never felt happier in all his life. They’re not hiding in some tiny shack out in the middle of nowhere in Brazil in a sea of faces. They’re in a comfy, plush suite with all the time in the world and no commitments and no clinic to take all Bruce’s time, and no factory to work Clint to the bone. They can give more time to one another.

 

They’re still not really talking about the things that need to be talked about. But they’ll get around to it soon, really.

 

Clint likes spending time with Bruce. He really does. His favorite part of the day is when he can go down to the lab and sit with him. He listens to what he and Tony have to say even if none of it makes any sense. He likes hearing Bruce's voice. Especially when he starts getting passionate about something. It sounds different when he's excited and it makes Clint smile to hear him so happy.  
  
He doesn't like being alone with Bruce though. Every time they leave together and go up to his suite he gets nervous. He wonders if today will be the day Bruce starts asking questions. Or if he’ll accidentally let something slip that will send Bruce running for the hills. But it doesn't happen and every time he's a little happier for it.

 

Bruce finally decides to tell Clint about his project one night while they’re eating dinner in Clint’s apartment, and when he does, Clint appears to be thrilled.

 

“I mean, it’s still just theory, but we’re bringing in a student to help us out, as soon as we pick one based on their paper, but… it’s a real possibility. I might go through some physical changes if our DNA is combined… I just hope you won’t think of me any differently if I’m green _all_ the time.”

 

"I like green." Clint says with a smile. When Bruce had first mentioned experimenting with the Hulk he had been nervous they would be going back to that old fight but this, this is great. "So if this works out you'll still turn right? Like when we need a hand in a fight you'll still Hulk out and get bigger? But he'll be able to talk and he'll think like you? At least a little?"

 

“Yeah, if my estimates are correct, he’ll go from the average intelligence of a four year old, to the average intelligence of an eleven year old. Not exactly a genius, but capable of lightyears more rational thought than before. Plus, you know, complete sentences.”

 

"And he and I can still be buds. I like it." Clint grins and steals a piece of bread off Bruce's plate. "You have my full support. As long as you leave the lab every now and then. If not Pepper and I are going to run away together."

 

Bruce’s eyes are downcast as he smiles, and he takes Clint’s hand across the table again, running his thumb over the archer’s calloused knuckles. “I will, I promise,” he says with a laugh. “And… you really wouldn’t mind if I… looked different? I mean it could be anything from green skin, or black hair, even just green eyes, extra muscle development, my voice might get deeper. I mean, it could be all of those combined, I don’t know.” He takes a deep breath. “Or, you know, our DNA might somehow not physically combine at all, it could all be mental.”

 

"Bruce, as attractive as you are I never wanted you for your looks." Clint assures him. He gives his hand a squeeze and looks up at him. "I wouldn't care if you shrunk three feet or sprouted extra arms. And I don't care if you get a little more assertive either. As long as you're still my Bruce."

 

Bruce smiles again, his hand tightening on Clint. “Always, I promise,” he nods. He’ll never leave Clint again, not like last time. It doesn’t matter if he grows a tail, he won’t be ashamed enough to hide or leave.

 

Unfortunately, they’re having a hard time pin pointing at exactly what point the DNA will cross, and how it will directly affect both Bruce and the Hulk. There’s a sliding spectrum that he and Tony develop, and it could be anywhere as mild as Bruce develops a tendency for temper tantrums, or as severe as he Hulks out forever, but with a permanent Bruce Banner mentality.

 

He’s frightened, but anything is better than having a dormant raging psychopath ready to destroy just about anything with a pulse. Even if Clint doesn’t see him that way. He’s pretty much the only one.

 

There have been endless news reports about the Avengers, and while Tony is more than willing to answer to calls for interviews, and Thor is too naïve to know to avoid them, Bruce keeps the hell away from the media at all costs. An image of him has been painted in the media’s eye as a clandestine, misanthropic hermit who has no control over his own powers – and while the last part might be partly true, Bruce doesn’t really want questions shoved at him like “Do you really think you’re safe enough to be part of this team?”

 

Because the honest answer is no. But he doesn’t want to say that on television.

 

Clint finds it all pretty amusing. No one ever wants to interview him because he's just that guy with the bow who no one ever sees. Natasha is on the news a lot because Shield doesn't want to have to deal with anyone calling them sexist and she hates that he manages to keep himself hidden while she has to go on TV and answer questions about her diet and what kind of bras she wears. More than once Clint has come down to the lab with a bloody nose and a grin after Natasha's return from one of these interviews.

 

And all the while, Bruce is still reading essays. And still, nothing jumps out at him. Paper after paper about string theory and evolutionary theories and The Big Bang and the chemical compounds of alien materials. One person almost interested him, a young man who tried to speculate on the materials of the Tesseract, and did his best to pinpoint just where in the galaxy the Chitauri came from, but he wanted to set it aside and keep reading, just in case.

 

And he was glad he did.

 

Two days later he comes across a remarkable essay. Written by “C. Whicker” it debated the merits of using time travel to right wrongs in one’s life in the past.

 

_Let’s assume for a moment that time travel is real. The geek squad has finally perfected it, and for a fee, you can go back in time. Some people would go back to visit a dead loved one, or maybe make bets on sports games they know the results to now. But I think you and I can both agree that most people would use that chance to go back and stop a catastrophe in their life from happening. I don’t think acclaimed Dr. Banner or Tony Stark with all his issues would be exempt from that category of time travelers._

It’s like none of the other paper’s he’d read. It’s witty, it’s clever, and it’s the _only_ paper to boldly speak directly to the two scientists, as if C. Whicker was already in the room with them, chatting away. Bruce read it out loud. They laughed together.

 

“Whicker is a strong candidate,” Bruce said with a nod, after he’d read the paper for a second and third time, his grin broadening every time. It was morally ambiguous, it was enthralling, and Bruce wanted to publish it somewhere, but he didn’t even know if it qualified as a scientific paper, or contrariwise a piece of prose.

 

It was a remarkable narrative though, weighing the pros and cons of rewriting your own history, debating the butterfly effect, and bringing in the possibility that history would find a way to rewrite itself to the same goal, or otherwise devolve into utter chaos.

 

Bruce was hooked. He tried reading a few more papers, but all the words after that moment seemed like crap, and nobody fit the bill better than Whicker.

 

“Contact Pepper,” Bruce finally says after the twelfth consecutive paper following Whicker’s. “Tell her to bring Whicker in.”

 

Tony does exactly that. And after a few days of tense waiting she gets back to them. Ms. Whicker will be in on Friday for a formal interview.

 

Friday comes quickly. Bruce is wearing a nice jacket and he’s in the lab, while Tony goes down to greet Miss Thing. She’s wearing a knee-length black dress with short sleeves and no cleavage, and she’s got a wild bush of big black hair, thick black horn-rimmed glasses, and skin the color of milk chocolate. She’s got a fair few extra pounds than the average “pretty girl” but they’re in all the right places, and Tony has to remind himself that he’s got Pepper as soon as he lays eyes on her.

 

“Mr. Stark?” she greets with a pretty little voice, and she’s holding a shiny black briefcase modestly in front of her.

 

"Tony is fine. Only people who want to insult me call me Mr. Stark." he says, holding out a hand to her. She shakes it and he leads her to the elevator. "Come on up to the lab. We'll show you around, then sit down for a drink and chat."  
  
Upstairs the door to the lab opens and Clint sidles into the room, coming to rest behind Bruce. "Mind if I stick around to meet the new recruit? Pepper said she's already got you and Tony all starry eyed and you haven't even met her yet."

 

“Yeah, well, her paper is pretty remarkable,” Bruce says, he’s still holding it. It had him thinking for days on end, weighing her words and relating them to his own life.

 

Inside the elevator, Miss Whicker is beside herself with excitement.

 

“Bruce Banner, he- he’s really here, right? Like, he’s upstairs, I’m going to meet him, right?” she asks Tony with a nervous, breathy voice.

 

"You got a crush on the doc?" Tony asks, smiling at her. If so that would be perfect. He doesn't like using people, but a pretty and interested lab assistant might be the push Clint and Bruce need to finally get things started in their relationship. Because as cute as they can sometimes be Tony's seen kindergarteners with more physical relationships.

 

“No, not really like that,” she’s grinning now though. “I just… I really admire him. Whoo, I think I’m sweating. I’m really nervous.” She’s tapping her foot and breathing rhythmically.

 

"Don't be. He's a chill guy. Needs to be. And he needs a chill environment so don't get too tense around him." Tony says. The elevator finally stops and the doors slide open, revealing the messy lab beyond. He smiles at her and leads her back towards their work tables.  
  
"Ms. Whicker I'd like you to meet Doctor Bruce Banner, a.k.a the Hulk or the Jolly Green Giant." he smirks. Then he catches sight of Clint and adds offhandedly. "And that's Birdbrain Barton. He doesn't work here but he'll sometimes crawl out of the vents to bother us for a while."

 

Whicker immediately stopped in her tracks, staring directly at the two men, and she dropped her briefcase, one hand flying instantly to her mouth.

 

“Oh my God, I can’t believe this is really happening,” she whispered reverently. “It’s really you.”

 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about, Miss Whicker, really,” Bruce smiled genuinely. But his smile slipped when she broke out in tears. “Hey, whoa, it’s alright,” he soothed, and Tony suddenly backed into a corner feeling very uncomfortable.

 

“I thought – I was so scared, I wanted you to pick my paper so badly, I was so nervous, I can’t believe I’m here, and it’s you,” she was babbling anxiously, trying to wipe away her tears, but they continued to flow.

 

“Miss Whicker, it’s alright, you don’t need to be nervous, I’m really just a normal guy,” Bruce said, stepping forward. “Me and Tony both. Your paper blew us away, really.”

 

“Clara,” she says suddenly. Silence fills the room, heavy as anything.

 

“What?” Clint breathes.

 

“Please, call me Clara,” she says again, smiling through her tears. “It’s so great to see you again.”

 

Bruce thinks he feels his heart stop, and the silence is back as a smile slowly, slowly creeps across his face, and Clint slinks cautiously forward to stand closer to him.

 

"Not Clara from the train. Not Clara as in Clara and Marshall." Clint says slowly, placing his hand on Bruce's shoulder and holding him tight. He can't believe it. It shouldn't be possible. It's been ten years since they lost those kids.

 

She nods quickly, her wild curls bouncing, and she wipes away more tears. “Yeah, yeah, that’s me,” she says in a squeaky voice, and suddenly she’s in an embrace between the two men.

 

Tony from the corner is blinking in shock as the three of them hug tightly. “Wait, you mean the kids that got grabbed at the train station a hundred years ago when you were hopping the border?” he asks in alarm. “Seriously? Christ, small world.”

 

Clint flips him off behind her back and then holds her more tightly. Finally they break away and all three of them are a still a bit teary. Clint looks at her, checking her over and he's glad to see she looks well taken care of. And she's in college so something must have gone right alone the way. At least she's getting an education.  
  
"How have you been? And your brother? God we were worried about you." Clint says, wiping away tears.

 

“We’re fine,” she sniffles, wiping away the tears more thoroughly. “I made sure we were never separated. Got passed between four different families before I was finally old enough to take him myself. Got back into high school, got two jobs, an apartment, and we made a living. He’s in high school now too, playing soccer, and he’s damn good,” she grins once her face is dry. “It’s so great to see the two of you still together! When I heard that Bruce was looking for a student to help him on a project, I just _had_ to get here. I didn’t expect you would be here too, though I guess that makes sense, you two are like best friends,” she beams and sniffles and wipes away another stray tear.

 

Clint looks at Bruce, wondering how they should handle this. They never discussed what to call their relationship. Or how much they wanted to tell people. But Bruce can't give him any instruction right now and there's nothing wrong with a little white lie until they get things worked out.  
  
"Yeah. Yeah we're still friends. We didn't expect to see you. You could have just sent a letter you know, we would have invited you over." Clint says with a smile.

 

“I… I guess I wanted to impress you,” She says shyly. “I looked you up a while later, found the website for your clinic in Brazil. Found out your name, Bruce Banner, and I looked you up. The more I learned the more fascinated I was until,” she giggled. “I ended up enrolled in Stanford in one of the top biology programs in the states. And then I heard about this and I just… I had to impress you.”

 

“This is all very heartwarming,” Tony suddenly said, “So I’m gonna say, you all catch up in a lounge or something and let me work, because I really don’t want to break up this touching reunion, but I’d rather it not happen in the middle of my lab.” He doesn’t sound bitter, or jealous, he’s just being his usual, honest, Tony Stark self.

 

"Let's go up to my floor. I've got soda for Bruce and beer for us." Clint says, winking at Clara and heading for the stairs. "You guys can talk science later."

 

“I _am_ old enough to drink you know,” she giggles at Clint as the three of them ascend the elevator to Clint’s suite.

 

They move into his kitchen where Bruce leans up against the counter and Clara takes a seat at the small table, and drinks are passed out.

 

“I think back to that train ride almost every day,” Clara smiles down at her beer without opening it yet. “At the time I didn’t know who you were, but after getting into this field, I’ve read up on your accident, Bruce,” she looks up at him with a small smile. “It’s remarkable, what you did. Not only for us, but for everyone. And the whole time, struggling so much with yourself.”

 

Bruce looks down at the floor shyly.   

 

"Bruce is just that kind of guy." Clint says, smiling fondly. He takes a swig of his beer and reclines back against the couch. "When we got down to Brazil he opened a free clinic in the little shanty town we were living in. Saved a lot of lives and never asked for anything in return. Not that he didn't get anything. Most of our meals came from grateful patients of his."

 

“I read all about that too,” Clara grins. “There were a lot of articles around Brazil about that clinic, you know. You were famous. So… why did you leave?”

 

Bruce suddenly swallows and looks away, turning around to face the counter. “I, ah… I thought I had a chance to get rid of the Other Guy. I was wrong.” He says softly, his shoulders tense.

 

Clint's smile dropped a little and he shifted uncomfortably. He and Bruce hadn't talked about that since that fight right after the battle with Loki so it was still a fairly sore spot for them. They were getting past it, little by little, but it wasn't something they ever discussed.  
  
"And what about you?" he asks, turning the attention away from Bruce and trying to diffuse some of the tension. "It sounds like you and your brother are doing well."

 

Clara can sense the mood is a touchy one, so she willingly lets it drop. “Yeah, we’re doing fantastic. You know he’s going to want to see you again. He was pretty upset when we were first separated, you guys and us. But he understands now, he knows why we had to do it, and he doesn’t resent the decision I made. But he does miss you. He still has that lock, you know.” She’s referring to, of course, the lock that Clint broke off the hatch of the train car they had ridden over the border in together.

 

Clint smiles again and takes another drink. "That's great. We'd love to see him again too, right Bruce? We hated leaving you guys behind. Kept an ear out to make sure you were alright."

 

“It was really amazing that you stuck up for us,” Bruce smiles over his shoulder at her, wringing his hands together. “When we heard on the radio that you lied directly to the police to keep us safe… thank you. We would probably both be in prison by now if it weren’t for you. And, ah… I don’t think I’d do very well in prison.”

 

“You were the most important thing that ever happened to my brother and me,” she says, looking between the two men. “We would be dead if it weren’t for you. So lying to the police was nothing.”

 

"Not nothing." Clint says with a shake of his head. "That takes guts. And making it convincing takes smarts. Not many kids would have been able to pull something like that off. And you did it for good reasons so you've got good judgement too. Those are important qualities that you've put to good work. Where'd you come up with that topic for your essay? I haven't actually read it but Bruce won't stop quoting the thing at me."

 

Clara laughs and finally cracks open her beer. “I just… I thought about it a lot. If I could go back in time and stop my daddy going to work drunk so he didn’t get his sorry ass fired, so we never went bankrupt and mama never killed herself and he never tried to kill us too,” she sighs. “And I figured, if I thought about it as much as I did, and my problems are so _trivial_ compared to Bruce’s Almighty Schizophrenia, he must have thought about it too.”

 

Bruce snorts and turns around again, finally smiling again. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

 

"Around here we just call him The Other Guy. Unless you're Tony, then he's the big green rage monster." Clint laughs. "I prefer the Hulk but I chose it so I'm biased."

 

“I cannot _imagine_ how you live with that,” Clara shakes her head in disbelief.

 

“Yeah, well… I don’t have much of a choice,” Bruce chuckles weakly. It sounded light hearted, but Clint knew that he really meant he didn’t have a choice but to live after suicide failed.

 

"It's a good thing he does though. He saved a lot of lives during the attack. Were you in the city for that?" Clint asks, wondering just how much Clara knew. "Stark Industries is very involved in the repairs being made and when you're working here you're probably going to end up hearing a lot about it."

 

Clara laughed. “Was I in the city for that,” she repeated, and suddenly hiked her skirt up a few inches to show off a very impressive set of deep scratches stitched shut on her thigh.

 

Bruce’s eyes nearly fall out of his head as he looks it over, the doctor in him reeling with the desire to inspect the wound. “You aren’t even limping!” he blurts.

 

Clara shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt so much anymore.”

 

"Good drugs then." Clint grins. Then he turns serious, his SHIELD persona slipping into place. It's not nearly as good as Phil's all-business attitude but it'll work in a pinch. "I assume you know about Tony being Iron man but if you're working here there's a chance you'll be meeting other Avengers on occasion. That opens up a lot of fears of a security leak so we are going to have to do a lot of background checks on you. It's nothing to worry about but you should be prepared for that. And a lot of paperwork."

 

“Se… security leak?” she looks over at Clint with her brows drawn up. “What do you mean, security leak? Background check?” she looks over at Bruce, who shakes his head and shrugs. “You… you don’t really think I’m here with malicious intent, do you?”

 

"Not at all." Clint assures her. "It's standard procedure. Even Pepper Potts had to have a background check and fill out all the necessary paperwork. No one is accusing you of anything. We just have to be safe. This tower also houses the Avengers and you will be working directly with two of them. Others may come down to the labs sometimes or you might be asked to come up to some of the shared floors to bring something to Tony or Bruce. So precautionary measures have to be taken."

 

She stares openly at him.

 

“So… I’m really going to meet the other Avengers? Because I have this waitress friend who has a _huge_ crush on Captain America.”

 

They talk for several hours, catching up, sharing details and tidbits about how their lives have gone since they split ways. Clara found out much to her shock that Clint had become a secret agent of all things, and that Bruce still didn’t have a wife despite the fact, she said, “He’s _so_ handsome.” Clint felt a flare of jealousy shoot through him, but he said nothing.

 

And then suddenly it’s ten o clock at night, and Clara shoots up out of her chair. “Oh my God I told Marshall I’d be home at eight! I really have to go, I’m so sorry!” she lifts her briefcase and hurries towards the door. “I’ll be back same time tomorrow!” And then she’s gone.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of dubcon/noncon in this chapter. Trigger warnings I guess, I'm not sure how to label trigger warnings exactly, but I don't want to set anyone off, so be warned!

"Sweet kid." Clint says. He picks up the empty beer bottles and takes them to the sink to be rinsed out before he tossed them into the recycling bin. "Not how I expected her to turn out. Think we should hook Cap up with her waitress friend?"

 

“I think we should let Steve handle his own romantic life,” Bruce shakes his head, remembering how Tony insisted on meddling in his relationship with Clint.

 

"Just a meet up. Didn't friends make introductions for each other back in his day? We'll introduce and then let things be. I'm not saying we make reservations for them at Delmonico's. We aren't Tony." he says, flashing Bruce a smile. "Poor guy leaves the tower less than I do. He should have some fun."

 

Bruce shakes his head again, but he’s laughing this time. “You can mention it, but don’t push it. He’s really shy when it comes to girls.” He suddenly steps up to Clint and cups his face, giving the man a gentle kiss on the corner of his mouth. “I should probably go back to my floor,” he whispers, resting his forehead against the shorter man’s.

 

"You don't have to go yet." Clint smiles, leaning up for another quick kiss. "You can stay for a bit. We'll have dinner together. Maybe a movie or something if you want. The night is still young."  
  
He knows he shouldn't be worried, but Clara's words about how handsome Bruce is are still bugging him. She's right. Bruce is gorgeous and any woman would be lucky to have him. Now more than ever since he's an Avenger and has a real job at Stark Industries. But Bruce is his and he can't help but feel like he's been neglecting him. They had agreed to take things slow but if he freezes Bruce out altogether he's going to lose him again.

 

Bruce smiles and threads a hand through Clint’s short dishwater blonde hair. “Alright, I’ll stay,” he says, kissing his temple. He knows that Clint has really been trying to keep their relationship strong, and he admires every single effort he’s made. He’s lost in thought as he holds his arms loosely around Clint’s neck, and doesn’t snap back to attention until he feels hands on his hips. “Oh, sorry,” he laughs and sits down at the table with a shake of his head.

 

"No problem." Clint laughs. He kisses Bruce again before pulling away and going over to the cupboards. "Dinner choices are limited. I don't have much to cook with, I still live mostly on take out and granola bars. But I can whip up some macaroni and cheese if you like."

 

Bruce chuckles again, his legs spread comfortably. “I’m not a picky eater,” he says, throwing an arm over the back of his chair. “I’ll eat anything you make for me.”

 

He can’t help but appraise the younger man’s ass when he stands up on tiptoes to fetch the box of macaroni on the top shelf. He wonders if it’s as soft as it was when he was young and Bruce could sink his fingers into it, or if it’s hardened into muscle yet. Oh, he wants to check. But Clint has been jumpy, and he wants to take it slow, so Bruce will take it slow.

 

Clint starts the water boiling, singing under his breath as he goes. He turns to Bruce to ask him if he'd mind of he threw in a little chili powder when he was mixing in the cheese and his eyes are immediately drawn to Bruce's splayed legs. He swallows thickly and tries to hide his staring, thank god for good training on that one, but he can't look away. Bruce's legs are spread wide, drawing Clint's eyes right to his crotch. Through his jean Clint can just about make out the size of his package and his mind runs away from him. Is it as big as he remembers? Will it still taste the same? Would it be as easy to get him hard these days as he used to be?

 

However, Bruce is not stupid, and he can see Clint staring between his legs. Even if Clint’s eyes aren’t pointed directly at it, his lips open just a little bit and his breathing quickens, and Bruce can tell what he’s thinking. A surge of heat rushes through him as Clint licks his lips, and turns back to the stove, throwing the chili powder in without asking. Bruce liked Indian food, so of course he wouldn’t mind the spice.

 

Bruce is overcome with the desire to launch out of his chair and take him against the edge of the counter as he once did so many years ago, but that wouldn’t be taking things very slow at all. A throb shoots down between his legs, and he tries to ignore it. He really does.

 

Clint tries to focus his attention on the meal. He pulls out a few types of cheeses from the mostly empty fridge and starts to grate them, putting them together into a bowl to be melted into a sauce. But as he works his mind is on Bruce. He thinks about what it would feel like to have Bruce come up behind him, slip his arms around his waist and grind against him like he used to. No one has done that to Clint in years and it would be wrong to expect it now but he's thinking about it and it's making him a little hot under the collar.

 

Bruce is thinking quite the same thing. It seems that neither of them have noticed the silence that has fallen heavily over the kitchen, so lost in their own thoughts. He’s thinking about what it would be like to hold Clint so tightly now that he’s so much thicker with muscle. How warm his body must be, how it would radiate heat against his touch, how much tighter he must be now with all that muscle tightening his body everywhere else. His dick gives another throb of interest, and he tries to look away, but _oh_ Clint looks so good in those jeans. Bruce wishes _he_ could cup Clint’s ass that tightly.

 

Clint looks over his shoulder and Bruce is definitely staring at his ass. So he makes a little show of bending over to get a serving dish from one of the cabinets under his counter. He can practically feel Bruce's eyes burning a hole through his jeans. He licks his lips and oh wouldn't it be so good if Bruce just grabbed him right now? If he just pushed him down onto the floor and tore off these damned jeans that are getting tighter by the second. Clint would love that. He suddenly can’t remember why he wanted to take things slow.  
  
As he stands back up he wonders if Bruce would be as forceful as was before. He's a little older now and a bit thinner but Clint thinks he can still see the same fire and wiry strength that he used to use to hold Clint down while he pounded into him.

 

Bruce knows now that Clint is aware he’s staring him down, he knows that bend down is intentional, and he can see the way Clint is resting his weight on one foot at a time so the slope of his ass is that much more prominent.

 

Bruce wants to say something. His mouth is too dry. He can feel his cock pulsing right along with his heart now, and he thinks about crossing his legs, but decides to leave them spread open instead. He even shifts his hips a little bit so his package is that much more obvious, should Clint turn again.

 

Clint does turn and when he sees Bruce he almost groans. He looks good. He looks really good. So good Clint almost wants to forget about dinner and sink to his knees in front of Bruce's chair, rip open his pants and suck him off, fast and dirty like he used to. It would be so much more satisfying than macaroni and cheese.

 

Bruce’s lips keep going dry, he’s panting so hotly, and he has to keep wetting them with his tongue as he traces the deep lines that hard muscle have grooved into Clint’s body. He can feel blood trickling down between his legs and as much as he should probably try to stop from getting an erection in the middle of Clint’s apartment, he can’t do anything but watch the way he sways his hips as he hums. He wants to fill his hands with those teasing hips and grind hard against that perfect ass, and oh god he can’t think straight.

 

It’s been _years_ since he’s been aroused like this. He’d almost forgotten what it was like to feel his groin tightening and his pulse quickening. His body had shut down years ago after he thought Clint was dead, and only now does it seem to be reawakening – and it’s reawakening _fast_.

 

There's nothing for Clint to do now except wait for the pasta to be ready so he swaggers over to the table and leans forward, resting on his elbows. His eyes trace Bruce's tongue as it runs over his lips and a little jolt runs through him, right to his cock. He wants that tongue on him. Now.  
  
"Did I tell you about my undercover mission as a model?" he asks, staring Bruce in the eye now. He's going to break him. He just needs to push the right buttons. "It was ridiculous. There was one shoot where they had me in this outrageous fishnet shirt that clung to me tighter than any of my shirts, even that old wife beater I used to wear out to the range. And then there were these pants. You can't even begin to imagine how tight they were. They wouldn't even let me wear underwear underneath because you could see the lines. And god was it comfortable, even if the entire world could see the outline of my cock."

 

Bruce knew what Clint was doing. It was a throwback to the first time they ever became intimate, in the train before Clara and Marshall showed up. It was just like then, when Clint told Bruce about one time he wore a short skirt, tube-top and high heels. He knew Clint knew what he was doing too, and that made it so much better.

 

 _What happened to taking it slow,_ he wanted to say, but he didn’t dare. He didn’t really want Clint coming to his senses.

 

“Oh yeah?” he asked, trying to sound innocent enough. “And where did these pictures end up?”

 

"I've still got a few." Clint shrugs, like it's no big deal. "They sent me pictures from all my shoots. But I remember that one specifically because of how comfortable I was. Since then I only wear underwear while I'm on missions."

 

Bruce suddenly flings himself up out of his chair, and he sees Clint’s eyes flash and he stands up just as fast. There’s a moment of tension, and Bruce doesn’t even _try_ to hide the fact that he’s staring down at Clint’s crotch, trying to discern if he’s wearing underwear right now.

 

Clint stands up and turns so he's leaning back against the table, his hips out and his entire body clearly on display. Bruce's eyes rake over his crotch, still trying to come to conclusion one way or another and for the first time Clint feels a little flutter of anxiety in the back of his mind. He chooses to ignore it in favor of the smugness he's feeling at seeing Bruce lose his cool.

 

Bruce’s chest is rising and falling visibly as he breaths, his lips open just a little bit and then he can _see_ it. He can see the line of Clint’s cock, and he knows, he knows for sure, he’s not wearing a damn thing.

 

He’s not even completely in touch with his body when he throws himself at Clint, and the moan that rips out of the archer’s throat at the very second they make contact is _sublime_. He’s got his arms wrapped so tightly around Clint’s waist that both of them can hardly breathe, and his back makes sharp contact with the edge of the counter, but that really doesn’t matter.

 

It must be the adrenaline flying through Bruce’s body that enables him to lift Clint right off the floor and sit him on the counter until their bodies are sandwiched so closely together from collarbone to cock they might as well be fused.

 

Their kiss is more teeth than lips and they’re grinding together so hard they might as well be humping, and the arousal is strong in their veins, they would fuck right through their pants if they were able.

 

"Oh _fuck Bruce,_ " Clint gasps in the brief second when they part for air. He buries one hand in the scientist's thick curls, using it to hold him close as they kiss again and he can taste him now. He tastes the same and Clint is happy he could cry. The anxiety is growing stronger because this is a lot more serious than teasing but he ignores it again in favor of the feel of Bruce against his body.

 

Bruce can’t remember a time he ever got so hard so fast, and when Clint’s legs wrap around his legs, his cock gives a powerful throb. His tongue is halfway down the archer’s throat, and he wants so badly to cup his ass, but it’s currently planted firmly on the counter, and he’ll just have to wait.

 

His head is spinning as he breaks away from the kiss to suck and stroke Clint’s throat with his tongue, his hands slipping up under his shirt to finally get a feel for the muscles on the _front_ of his body, and that has his dick throbbing with need. He’s pretty sure he could get off just by grinding against those washboard-abs.

 

Clint tilts his head back a little and moans. Bruce presses against him a little harder and he moans again because he's so hard already. Bruce's hands slide farther under his shirt and he decides to return the favor. Abandoning his hold on Bruce's hair he instead redirects his talented fingers to the buttons on the other man's shirt despite the little voice in his head which is now clearly telling him to STOP.

 

Bruce takes a moment to let his shirt fall down around his waist, shrugging his arms out of the sleeves, and his chest hair is soft against Clint’s bare body as the scientist finally tugs it over his head.

 

Bruce kisses his way down Clint’s chest, down his abs, and stops right at the hem of his jeans. Clint’s legs are spread so wide, and they’re trembling, and it’s so lovely – but Bruce pauses because he sees a few slender black strokes of a tattoo climbing just a centimeter over the top of Clint’s pants, and he knows Clint didn’t have a tattoo right above his cock the last time they were together.

 

And suddenly he’s pushed away, dashed to the floor by his forehead and his shoulder, and Clint has closed his legs with a look of fright on his face. Bruce, startled, stays where he is.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks breathlessly.

 

"I can't." Clint says. He jumps off the counter and grabs his shirt, tugging it over his head. Bruce is getting to his feet, dazed and confused and Clint feel awful. He shouldn't have led him on like that. It's not entirely his fault. He wants it. But right now he feels cold and there's blue at the edge of his vision and he's shaking like a leaf. "I'm sorry." he mumbles, taking a step back into the kitchen, away from Bruce. "You should go."

 

Bruce’s erection is gone as quickly as it came, and he’s just staring after Clint now as he pulls his shirt back over his arms and buttons it. Everything about Clint’s actions right now point to one thing, and Bruce’s little experience with human psychology has never failed him in the past. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but it leaves his lips anyway.

 

“Clint, were you raped?”

 

Clint goes pale and he takes another step back. "Why would you even think that?" he asks. His voice is low and harsh and decidedly angry. Because no, that's not what happened. Not at all. And he doesn't want to share what it was so he points to the door and the next thing he knows he's shouting. "Get out! Just go Bruce, now!"

 

Bruce flinches and nearly stumbles, he takes a step back so fast. He turns on his heel and nearly runs out of the apartment, slamming the door a little too hard behind him. He doesn’t stop moving until he’s back in the elevator, and then he’s trembling and he slides to sit against the wall, covering his face with his hands.

 

He knew he shouldn’t have pushed. Clint said they were going to take it slow. The elevator reached the lab floor, and the doors open, but he doesn’t even look up, and the doors close again. 

 

Clint sinks to the floor in his kitchen. Tears spill from his eyes because he just ruined everything. Bruce wanted him and then he threw him out and now Bruce might never want to try something like that again. He might have just ruined things forever because he's too weak to push past his own fears.  
  
  
Down in the lab Tony decides to call it a night. Bruce is gone, that girl is probably gone and Pepper is going to be home soon. With any luck the he'll be able to convince her to skip dinner and take things to the bedroom a little early. Or the couch, he isn't picky.  
  
He calls the elevator and is a little surprised when the doors open immediately, like it was already there. He's even more surprised to find Bruce curled up on the floor. If Tony didn't know any better he'd swear Bruce was imitating a kicked puppy. Which made no sense, especially with how happy he had been earlier.  
  
"Hey man, what's the problem?" he asks, settling down against the back wall of the elevator next to him.

 

Bruce heard the doors open distantly, but he’s still startled when he hears Tony’s voice right next to him, and his head snaps up and to the side. His eyes are brimming with tears and he looks at Tony helplessly.

 

“I – ” he starts weakly, but just shakes his head and covers his face again.

 

"Come on Bruce, what is it?" Tony asks again but he's already starting to form a picture. Bruce only gets this upset when it has something to do with Barton. "If you won't tell me I'm going to go kick his ass on principle."

 

“No!” Bruce looks up again. “No, it’s not his fault! I – I did something wrong, I triggered something, I don’t know what happened, I made an assumption and he says I’m wrong, but I’m not so sure he isn’t lying and…” he takes in a shaky breath. “We got intimate, I saw some tattoo he’s got in his pants, and he completely flipped his lid.”

 

"You think he's embarrassed? He probably had other lovers after things blew up between you two. Maybe one got serious enough for him to do something stupid." Tony suggests. "I almost got a chicks name tattooed on my arm. We spent a weekend together, best sex I've ever had and one drunken night I thought I should commemorate that weekend with her name."

 

“No, it wasn’t like that. It wasn’t embarrassment, it was… it was fear. Anger. He was _hiding_ something, something he hated,” Bruce shook his head, his voice still shaking as he ran his fingers through his hair. “H- He said he wanted to take it slow, and I… I just jumped him like an animal, I’m a horrible human being,” he groans and covers his face again.

 

"Please. Nobody, especially someone like you, no offense, can make a SHIELD agent do something they don't want to do." Tony scoffs. "Even Agent Coulson could take any of us out if he wanted to unless you Hulked out. You didn't Hulk out on Clint did you?"

 

“No, I didn’t,” Bruce groans. “Even if I did, Clint knows how to talk him down, and the Other Guy _listens_ to him.”

 

Tony looks at him, eyebrow raised. "He can sweet talk him?" Then he starts to laugh. He can remember how the battle ended with Hulk grabbing Clint and the two of them chatting like old friends. It makes sense now. "That's fucking hilarious. We should set up play dates for the two of them."

 

Bruce doesn’t even respond to that, he just shakes his head and threads his hands through his hair. “I think I’m going to be sick,” he moans, his hands still shaking. “He was… he was _so angry_.”

 

"Angry or scared Bruce?" Tony asks. So much for that early night with Pepper. This is obviously going to take a while. "According to Pepper it can be hard to tell them apart but there is a difference. So was he pissed at you for trying to steal his virtue before he wanted or was he scared of something? Not that it'll make much difference until you can get him to tell you what it is."

 

Bruce thinks carefully before nodding. “Scared. He was terrified of something. Scared enough to throw me out, to yell at me.”

 

"So now you just have to figure out what it was. Can't be too hard. You know him better than anyone other than Romanoff. So what scares him?" Tony asks. He can see the wheels turning in Bruce's head. He kind of likes this game. It's like trying to find a bug in one of his programs only more challenging because he can't see the coding.

 

Bruce shakes his head. “Clint isn’t scared of anything, really. I guess… he used to get scared when I was in a bad place, when the depression got bad or I got hurt. But this isn’t like that.”

 

"We could hack his file. His psych evals are in there. The head shrinks have got to know something." Tony says. He stands up and hits the door open button to admit them back into the lab. "Come on man, let's go find out what's got Katniss so wound up."

 

“No, Tony, I’m not going behind his back like that. I’d rather hear it from him,” Bruce shakes his head, and stands up. “I don’t want you looking, either. I would rather talk to him about it.”

 

"This is a morals thing right?" Tony asks, feigning confusion. Bruce rolls his eyes and he shrugs. "Never been my strong suit. But if you don't want to play I'm not going to do all the heavy lifting, I only do that for Pepper."

 

“I’ll figure it out my own way. I don’t want you meddling. I get the feeling it’d do more harm than good if Clint finds out I hacked his file to find out what’s wrong with him, rather than asking him personally,” Bruce holds the doors open with the button and offers Tony a weak smile. “I’m going to go back to my room now. I mean it. Don’t hack his file.” He hits the button for his floor before Tony can get back in the elevator with him.


	7. Chapter 7

For the rest of the week Clint sticks to his room or the vents as a means of spying on his teammates. He would go to the range but he promised Bruce that whenever he did he would let Bruce rub him down afterwards and he's not ready for that kind of intimate contact again. So he spies on Natasha and Steve sparring or Thor raiding the kitchens. After the first day he stops by Bruce's lab and watches from overhead as he works and chats with Clara. Then that becomes a daily thing. The vent there is large and open so he ends up spending a lot of time there, watching and listening while they work, sometimes bringing a book with him. He doesn't understand most of what he hears but he gets enough to know that Clara is almost as smart as Bruce and the two of them seem to be getting along very well.  
  
After the third day he tries to apologize by bringing a bag lunch for Bruce. It contains a sandwich, a brownie, a few carrots and a juice box. He quietly opens the vent and lowers it using a string onto the table beneath him. After he's closed the grate again he thinks he should have included a note saying how sorry he is but that's not something that can be communicated on paper. And even if it was a sandwich isn't nearly good enough to apologize for what he did.

 

Bruce turns around to go back to his work on the table behind him, and he freezes abruptly when he sees a brown, folded paper bag right there that definitely wasn’t there before. He peers around the lab, but no, Tony and Clara had gone to run tests on the containment cell next lab over, and he’s alone.

  
Then he turns his eyes skyward, squinting up through the vent to try and see Clint, but it’s too dark and the vent is too small. He jumps when the door opens and Clara and Tony come walking back in.

 

“You didn’t leave this here, did you?” he asks them, even though he’s almost positive they didn’t.

 

"I don't eat while I'm working." Tony laughs, already going back to his screens to adjust their readings. "And I wouldn't bring you anything. What about you Clara?"  
  
"No I didn't leave it." she assures him.  
  
"All yours then buddy. Your fairy godmother must have dropped it off for you."

 

Bruce’s eyes lift to the grate above his head again with a little smile. “Yeah. Fairies,” he says softly and unrolls the top of the bag to peek inside.

 

A few times a week, Steve will have the group all together. Clint usually isn’t there, and Steve doesn’t even know how to begin to contact him, since he seems to spend most of his time in the ceilings. And sometimes Bruce shows up, but he’s _never_ there for training sessions, because he really doesn’t want to let the Hulk out for a few hours just for the hell of it. He assures Steve he’ll be more active in such activities like that once the experiment is a success.

 

And so far, it’s really looking like a success. They take his blood and run the experiment on tiny samples of his blood vessels, and there’s little change but it’s not unnoticeable. And he so badly wants to tell Clint about it, but he’s always hiding, always avoiding Bruce.

 

He doesn’t like the way Natasha glares at him all the time like he’s the scum of the earth, either.

 

Natasha finally breaks into Clint's room and tells him that if he doesn't start coming outside again she's going to drag him out piece by piece. He tries to argue that he's been in the vents, not just his room. That only serves to make her angrier and he can see her planning on booby trapping the vents so he agrees that he'll join the team for dinner that night.  
  
He leaves early though, and goes down to the labs the normal way instead of his preferred route. Dinner is going to be awkward enough without him and Bruce refusing to look at each other so he hopes he can catch the scientist for a few minutes alone to properly apologize for being such a dick. But then he sees him, smiling and laughing over some new specimen with Clara and he feels his heart clench. Bruce looks so happy and comfortable for once. He can't ruin that by bringing up their fight. Besides, the lab is pretty much sacred ground. He lost his right to tread there when he tossed Bruce out on his ass and Clara has neatly filled whatever space he might have left empty.  
  
So he quietly retreats, nodding briefly to Tony when he passes him on his way back to the elevator.

 

“You know, Clint was just out there,” Tony says casually as he walks back into the office, and the smile Bruce was sharing with Clara was suddenly gone and his head snaps up.

 

“He’s – ” he doesn’t say anything else, nearly shoving Tony out of the way as he runs out of the lab, but by the time he’s in the hall, it’s empty. He sighs and leans against the wall, tugging at his hair and trying to soothe his racing pulse.

 

“What’s that about?” Clara asks Tony, watching as Bruce slides down the plate glass.

 

“They’re having a lover’s spat, I don’t know,” Tony shrugs, rolling his eyes.

 

"Don't tease them Tony. All friends fight and being made fun of for it won't help." she chides lightly. She's been feeling much more comfortable around the office these days. Especially since a very well designed paper airplane, crafted by the one and only Tony Stark, assured her that there was no need to be formal around here. They were all friends even if one of them was a billionaire and the other was also their guinea pig.

 

Tony shakes his head as he starts to fiddle with a little device that seems to serve no real purpose. “Cupid and Bruce almost fucked a couple days ago and Barton had some kind of panic attack or something and now he’s avoiding Bruce. I didn’t get all the details, Bruce made me promise not to meddle.” He finally looks up, and Clara’s mouth has dropped open. “Wait, you didn’t know they’re lovers? What the heck did you three talk about when you went up to Clint’s place the other day? They really neglected to mention that?”

 

"We talked about Bruce's work and my brother and my essay and all sorts of things. But they never said anything about that." Clara says. She looks back over at Bruce who's still sitting on the floor. Now that she looks closely he does have the air of a man who's recently been unlucky in his love life. Which makes her feel guilty about how she's been subtly flirting with him.

 

Tony lifts his eyebrows at her. “Shit. I might have not been allowed to drop that bomb on you,” he sniffs and looks back down at his device. “Don’t spill the beans, okay? Maybe they didn’t want you to know.”

 

"Why? Will they get in trouble?" she asks, suddenly nervous. She doesn't know what the rules are about this kind of thing in their strange organization but she doesn't want to do anything that will hurt either one of them.

 

“I dunno,” Tony snorts. “But I figured if you guys are such close friends they would have told you, and since they haven’t – I don’t know. Bruce has been really sensitive about me getting involved in this at all.”

 

She shakes her head. "If they don't want me to know I don't. I would prefer to just focus on our work instead. I just hope everything works out. Poor Dr. Banner looks pretty upset."

 

Tony suddenly makes a face, and she looks down at her work as Bruce comes back into the room.

 

“Sorry about that,” he forces a grin on his face. “I ah, wanted to talk to him. I’ll catch him later. Where were we?” his smile slips as he sees the look on his friends’ faces. “What?”

 

"It's getting late." Clara says hastily. She adds another note to her growing list and smiles up at Bruce as convincingly as she can. "I have to get home to make dinner. You two should probably get washed up and do the same, I seem to remember Ms. Potts sending out an email saying you were all dining together tonight."

 

Bruce’s brows furrow and he looks over at Tony. “When exactly were you planning on telling me about that email?” he asks, looking through his pocket-tablet to see how he could have possibly missed it, as Clara went rushing by him.

 

"When I brought you up to dinner. I wasn't going to give you time to find an excuse so you wouldn't have to come with. If I have to spend an entire meal with Rogers then you do too." Tony shrugs. He doesn't look at Bruce as he goes around the lab, closing down the programs he can because Pepper doesn't like him keeping sensitive material open when there are so many people in the building.

 

Bruce feels anxiety building in his chest. “It’s not Steve I’m afraid of,” he mutters. “I still haven’t been able to corner Clint. We haven’t talked since he threw me out.”

 

"He was down here looking for you a second ago. He can't have gotten far, go find him." Tony orders, pointing to the stairs. "I can handle things down here. Nothing but button pushing and making sure Jarvis knows what to keep me updated about."

 

Bruce wrings his hands and nods, running his tongue over his lips nervously. He walks into the hall and has no idea which way to look for Clint, but he has a pretty good idea. He walks bravely to the range, and punches the code into the door without hesitating. Clint is right there, as he expected, his bow drawn tight and an arrow nocked.

 

He was too focused on squinting at his target to even notice Bruce walking up to him, but grabbing the bow right out of his hand definitely gets his attention. Clint looks incredibly startled as he looks up at Bruce, as if the thought of anyone laying a hand on his bow never even crossed his mind.

 

“We need to talk,” Bruce says firmly.

 

"Yeah." Clint nods. He's feeling a little nauseous now that he's face to face with Bruce. He had had a speech planned out when he had gone down to the lab but as soon as he left he had forgotten it. Not being able to talk to him was a weight off his shoulders but now Bruce is here and the anxiety and doubt are all flooding back.

 

“Why are you avoiding me again,” Bruce says, and it’s less of a question, and more of a demand. “Give me a straight answer, Clint, or I swear I will never let you leave this range.”

 

"I wasn't avoiding you." Clint says. "Not really. I'm fucking mortified and I couldn't face you after screaming at you like that. I lost my cool. Sorry about that."

 

“You’ve been hiding in the vents for a week, and you won’t even look me in the eye now. Don’t give me lies, Clint, you’re scared of something, and you won’t face me.” Bruce says softly.

 

"I'm not scared!" Clint yells. Then he stops and takes a deep breath. This isn't going how he wants it to. He just wants Bruce to forgive him. But he won't if he keeps yelling and pushing him away. "I'm sorry. You have to stop me when I start yelling."

 

“ _Stop_ you?” Bruce’s eyes flash as they narrow. “What do you want me to do, Clint? Throw you against a wall? Cover your mouth with my hand? Beat you around the head? Since apparently _talking_ to you doesn’t work.”

 

 "I don't care how you stop me but you can't let me keep yelling. Nothing is going to get better if I keep yelling at you." He's getting nervous. He just wants all of this to go away. He shouldn't have let things get as far as they did in the first place. He should have just gotten on his knees and blown Bruce and then they both could have walked away happy.

 

“I can’t tell you what to do, Clint, if you want to stop yelling then get your temper in check and stop yelling. It’s not up to me to talk for you.” Bruce puts Clint’s bow against the wall beside a nearby bench and sat down, patting the seat next to him. Once Clint sat, and the silence between them lost a bit of its tension, Bruce steeples his fingers in front of his face, elbows on his knees, and he doesn’t look at Clint when he speaks so he won’t feel cornered. “What’s that tattoo that made you fly into a panic attack?”

 

Clint instantly drops his gaze to the floor. The tension is back, clear in the set of his shoulders and the way he keeps moving his legs, like he can't stay still. "It's nothing. Just a stupid thing. Don't worry about it." He turns his head a little and slides one hand up Bruce's thigh. "Can't we just forget about this? I'll make it up to you for throwing you out and we can go back to normal."

 

Bruce immediately pulls Clint’s hand off his leg, as much as he wants to let it creep higher. “No, we can’t just forget it. Because something’s wrong, and you won’t tell me what. How do you think that makes me feel, Clint?”

 

"Bruce it's nothing for you to worry about." Clint assures him. He still won't meet his gaze but he's close. He's looking at his shoulder now instead of the floor. "I said I wanted to take things slow and when they started going fast I panicked. It doesn't concern you."

 

“It doesn’t _concern_ me?” Bruce is suddenly on his feet, and realizing that it must make Clint nervous, he drops down to his knees and puts his hands on Clint’s. “Clint, if it concerns _you_ , it concerns _me!_ If we’re going to make this work, you have to let me take care of you!”

 

"Don't cage me in like this Bruce." Clint begs, pulling his legs up onto the chair and hugging them to his chest. "Sit back beside me, please. I don't like this."

 

Bruce doesn’t want to, but he does, for Clint. “You have to tell me what happened to you that’s made you like this. If I don’t understand… I can’t just tiptoe around you. Clearly, you’ve got triggers, and that only happens when something traumatic happens. Now, you’ve said it’s not rape, but… well, that’s what it’s pointing to psychologically. If you don’t want me to think that, then you need to tell me what _really_ happened.”

 

Clint shakes his head. He's looking straight forward now but not really seeing anything. Even Bruce's voice seems distant. His chest is tight and he starts rubbing at that same spot where Loki's scepter had touched him.  "Not this time Bruce. Anything else I would but not this. I can handle this myself. I just need to stop thinking about it. But I wasn't raped. I promise."

 

“If you don’t let me in you’re pushing me out. Those are the only two options, Clint. There’s no middle ground when it concerns you and your mental and emotional health.”

 

"Why?" Clint asks and he's on his feet. He looks down at Bruce, face contorted in pain and confusion and fear. "Why can't I just have something of my own? You never asked about anything before. You never cared before and now you're fixating on the one thing I don't want to talk about."

 

“Don’t you _dare_ tell me I never cared!” Bruce matches Clint’s height with his own, staring him straight in the eye. “You are the _only_ thing I ever really cared about in all my life.” 

 

"You never asked about anything. What happened before didn't matter. Now you won't let this go. I don't understand what you want from me." Clint replies, breaking eye contact to start pacing. "I'll tell you anything else, just not this. This one you have to leave to me. You won't be able to help anyway."

 

“Nothing else has given you panic attacks so severe you avoid me for a week,” Bruce interjects, stepping in front of Clint to stop his pacing. He takes the man by the jaw and lifts his head to make eye contact with him again. “You’re right. I didn’t ask you anything before. And that’s how I lost you. I won’t let it happen again, and I certainly won’t let you be the one to stop me. Now either you tell me what’s going on with you, or – ” he pauses, not sure what to say. He can’t say he’ll leave, because giving Clint an ultimatum like that just isn’t fair. And, truthfully, he wouldn’t leave anyway. “Or so help me I will hold you down and find out what you’re hiding from me, because I won’t let anything come between us again. Not now that I’ve finally got you back.”

 

That was probably the worst thing he could have said. Clint tenses up and one quick shot to the elbow sends Bruce's arm into spasm and he can easily slip away. But Bruce is blocking the door so there's no where for him to go except back against the wall.  
  
"Don't touch me." he growls, glaring fiercely at Bruce, arms raised and ready to attack if he needs to.

 

Bruce knows he crossed a line with that comment, which only further serves to solidify in his mind that Clint is lying about being raped, but he can tell that now is a bad time to keep forcing the subject.

 

“Are you going to hit me, Clint?” he asks evenly.

 

"Not unless you make me." he replies but his arms drop a little. He straightens out of his fighting stance, face turning red with shame. "I'm sorry Bruce. I don't know what's wrong with me. Please forgive me."

 

Bruce shakes his head. “ _Something_ is wrong with you, Clint. And until you tell me, this is going to keep happening.”

 

Clint sighs. There's no getting out of this. Bruce is being persistent and he can be even more stubborn than Clint when he feels like it. So despite his stomach tying itself in knots he knows he has to come clean.  
  
"Fine. You wanna know then it's on your own head. And I'll understand if you never want to touch me again." he stops and takes a deep breath because suddenly the room is too hot and he can't get enough air in his lungs. "Just promise me you won't hate me, okay?"

 

Bruce wants to assure Clint that there’s not a thing he could do or say that could ever make him stop loving the archer, but he knows there’s a deep insecurity there – undoubtedly fueled by when Bruce threw him out so many years ago – and Clint wouldn’t believe him. Bruce isn’t one to waste words, so he simply nods his head.

 

Clint sighs and goes back to the bench, falling heavily into it.  
  
"I wasn't raped." he starts, head in his hands. "Rape I can handle. Rape I can block out like any other torture. That all bleeds together after a while. The problem now is when I was with Loki. He wanted me and I wanted him. Really wanted him. It's not that I couldn't say no or he forced me against my will. He wanted me to want him so I did. I went to him and I begged him to take me. All I wanted was to bring him pleasure even if that meant he rode me till I bled. And I was so happy with anything he gave me. That's what's so fucking sick about it all."

 

Bruce feels his throat clench. He knew Clint had been under Loki’s influence, apparently a lot of people had – but he didn’t know any of the details.

 

“So you were mind controlled. And you think that’s somehow your fault?” he asks slowly, trying to get a handle on the situation, but not drawing any nearer to Clint.

 

"I wasn't mind controlled. He didn't force me to do anything." Clint says. "It wasn't like I was watching him take me and I couldn't say no. I wasn't in my head screaming for him to stop while my body went down on it's knees for him. I was there, I wanted it. They were my thoughts and actions. Just like letting those arrows fly and killing those people. No one forced me to loose those arrows and no one forced me to love him. Whatever he did it wasn't mind control. He changed me somehow. Tasha changed me back but you can't erase everything with a crack on the head."

 

“Do you love Loki?” Bruce asks carefully.

 

"No!" Clint shouts, jumping to his feet. "No! I did but I don't now and I never will again!  Just thinking about it disgusts me! If I had the chance I would put an arrow through his eye but that doesn't erase everything! I loved him for a time and as much as I hated it I will never be able to forget! What I did and what he did to me and how he touched me is always going to be a part of me! He made sure of that!"

 

“Then how can you say it wasn’t mind control?” Bruce gestures forward. “Even if it wasn’t against your will, if it wasn’t _you_ then it wasn’t _you_. He changed you, you said so yourself, what do you think mind control _is?_ ” he pulls out his pocket tablet and with a few clicks, he begins to read. “Mind control, also known as brainwashing, coercive persuasion, mind abuse, menticide, thought control, or thought reform, refers to a process in which a group or individual  systematically uses  unethically manipulative methods to persuade others to conform to the wishes of the manipulators, often to the detriment of the person being manipulated.”

 

"Bruce you have to slow down, I only just graduated high school I can't keep up with you yet." Clint sighs. "If I'm getting you right you're saying it was mind control because I did what he wanted, right?"

 

“Because you normally wouldn’t have. If Loki walked up to you right now and told you to fall down to your knees and suck him off, you’d kill him on the spot, wouldn’t you?” Bruce asks.

 

“Of course!” Clint shouts, maybe a little too forcefully.

 

“And since this Clint has been around a lot longer than the Clint under Loki’s influence, that makes _this Clint_ the default Clint that mind control can be based off of. While not under his influence, you would kill him sooner than look him in the eye, and you still maintain the belief that what happened when he took over your body with his scepter were your own choices? The default Clint, the one that grew up and made decisions all his life and had his free will and lived with _me_ , he never would have been on Loki’s side, and _that’s_ what you’ve got to base this experience on. It doesn’t matter how lucid you were if you would have never made those same decisions without Loki’s influence. The fact that the whole thing makes you sick to your stomach should be proof enough.”

 

Clint nods slowly. He's not sure he believes Bruce yet but it makes sense. There's still one problem though.  
  
"He marked me." Clint says quietly. "He claimed me and marked me as his. I can't get away from it. There's no way I'm ever going to be able to forget what happened because of that."

 

Bruce’s eyes flick down immediately to Clint’s crotch, where he’d seen the wisps of a tattoo. “Show me,” he says gently. Clint looks frightened. “I’ll stay right here, I’m not going to lay a hand on you. Show me.”

 

Clint nods and leans back in his chair. He unbuttons and unzips his jeans with shaking hands and tugs them down just enough so that the runes marring his skin are visible. He closes his eyes and turns his head away so he won't have to see Bruce's reaction to them.

 

Bruce presses his lips together. In reality, the markings are beautiful. A deep, rich black, tinged with pale blue, and spelling a word in a language Bruce didn’t recognize that he knew, almost assuredly, spelled “Loki.” Among the curls and straight, hard lines, there are a few clearly deliberate scars criss-crossing the flesh, like Clint tried to cut the markings away. However, the markings go over the scar tissue, making it obvious that they were there by magical means, and not natural.

 

“Let’s talk to Thor about it,” Bruce says after a moment, and Clint takes the cue to zip up his jeans. “He’ll have more knowledge on the subject than any of the rest of us.”

 

"No!" Clint yells, jumping out of is chair. "No way! No one is seeing this. I haven't even told Natasha the truth about what I did with Loki. And you know how Thor is about this kind of thing. He'll keep trying to apologize to me on Loki's behalf and within two hours the entire tower will know. I won't be humiliated like that. I'd rather just keep trying to cut it out."

 

“Do you really think that’s working, Clint?” Bruce asks, gesturing towards the place where the scars were. “Thor is the only one who can help you. If you want the markings gone, then he’s the one who will get them gone. We don’t _know_ any other Asgardians, other than Loki, and I have this feeling that Loki isn’t going to want to help you get rid of them.”

 

"I don't want anyone else to know." Clint argues. He's already starting to regret showing Bruce. "If I show him he'll know what I did with Loki. And what if this means something on Asgard? What if it means I have to be Loki's? Thor's his brother, he'll side with him."

 

“So you just want them to stay there forever? You want to look at them every time you take a shower, every time you look in a mirror? You want me to see them every time if I ever make love you?” Bruce runs his hands through his hair.

 

"You don't have to. I can face away from you." Clint says shyly. "You have other options too. You don't need to settle for Loki's sloppy seconds." It's the entirely wrong thing to say but he can't take it back once it's out of his mouth.

 

“I’m not _settling_ for anything, Clint,” Bruce says firmly. “If I didn’t want you so bad it aches, I wouldn’t be putting myself through all this grief to get you back!”

 

"I'm sorry." Clint says because he doesn't know what else to say. He has two defaults when he gets stuck, either feign cockiness with a lot of sarcasm or start begging for forgiveness. With Bruce it's always the second because he can't bear the thought of Bruce being angry at him.

 

“We’re going to go to Thor, and he’s going to get those markings removed. If we tell him not to tell anyone, he won’t. He’s loyal beyond anything else, to his brother, _and_ to his friends.” Bruce finally steps closer. “I _refuse_ to only take you from behind for the rest of our lives, Clint. And I _will not_ let evidence stand that you _ever_ belonged to anyone else, not while I live and breathe and have the power to change it.”

 

Clint closes the space between them and buries his face in Bruce's shoulder. He wraps his arms around Bruce's waist and tries to hold himself steady so the other man won't be able to tell he's crying. He wants so badly to tell Bruce how much he loves him and doesn't want to be belong to anyone else. But Bruce has already done enough for him today by not turning him away when he found out the truth. He's not going to put him on the spot like that and expect him to answer truthfully. So he doesn't say anything and just holds onto Bruce as tightly as he can instead.

 

Bruce’s lips press to Clint’s forehead and they don’t move, one arm clutching tightly at the archer’s back, and the other coming up to rest on his head, fingers in his short hair, and he holds him tight and close and pretends he can’t feel the wetness on his shoulder.

 

He holds him like that for a very long time, closing his eyes and just rooting himself to this moment. Clint here, holding him, touching him, crying for him, and loving him, even if he’s not saying it out loud.

 

“We’re supposed to go to dinner with the others,” he murmurs after a very, very long moment. “We’re going to be late. Normally, I wouldn’t care, but, ah, _Pepper_ organized this dinner.”

 

"Joint effort actually. Natasha and Pepper." Clint mutters, pulling away and wiping his eyes. "It's quite the affair. I'm just going to go up to my room and get changed, I'll meet you up there in a minute okay?"  
  
Before Bruce can answer he's unscrewing the grate covering the vent and hoisting himself up into it.

 

Bruce stares up at the vent for a moment before blowing his breath out in a puff. “Yeah, okay, I’ll just take the door like a normal person,” he mutters, stuffing his hands in his pockets and ducking out the range door.


	8. Chapter 8

Dinner was nice. They went out, and Thor managed to frighten away the paparazzi pretty early on. Tony made no efforts to conceal the fact that he was, in fact, Iron Man for the children in the restaurant they went to, and he of courses handed out autographs on napkins like they were candy.

 

Bruce and Clint sat right next to each other, and every once in a while, Bruce would reach over and put his hand on top of Clint’s under the table and stroke his palm comfortingly or lace their fingers for a few brief moments.

 

There wasn’t much “team building” conversation, but dinner was nice anyway. Bruce was anxious the whole time, thinking about how to preface Clint’s problem with Thor.

 

When finally they are back in the tower, Thor seems more than surprised when Bruce grabs him by the arm and says lowly, “We need to talk,” with Clint standing just a foot away, eyes downcast.

 

Once they are securely in Clint’s apartment, with the cameras covered, Bruce turns to Thor.

 

“What is this about?” Thor asks skeptically.

 

“Do you want to tell him?” Bruce looks over his shoulder to Clint.

 

"It's about my time under Loki's control." Clint says, eyes still downcast. From there he launches into a brief explanation of what went on during his time with Loki and how Loki made him want things he wouldn't normally. He tries to stay vague but he can see the dawning realization on Thor's face as he gets farther along, especially when he mentions the markings Loki spelled onto his skin.

 

“Will you allow me to see them?” Thor asks, and Clint has to look to Bruce for permission on instinct. Bruce nods, and Clint makes a face as he works open the clasps on his jeans and pulls them down, along with his underwear, just far enough to show the markings on his skin right above his dick. Thor goes down on one knee and squints at them before laughing. “Oh, I know this trick! It is very simple. It is used by children on Asgard to draw things on one’s friends, it is nothing serious.”

 

Clint lets out the breath he had been holding out of fear that Thor would tell him there was no means of removing them. Or that they meant something far worse.  
  
"So you can remove them?" he asks hopefully. If it is something simple then there has to be an easy way to remove the markings.

 

“Yes, of course,” Thor grins, and suddenly licks his thumb and seizes Clint by the small of his back to keep him steady while he begins to rub his thumb into the top of the markings.

 

“It comes off with _spit?_ ” Bruce’s eyebrows arch.

 

“It is a very childish trick – ” Thor begins to laugh, but then his smile fades when the markings do not disappear. “Wait. The usual means are not working. Perhaps I have misjudged.” He releases Clint to sit back on his haunches and he peers so seriously at the markings that Clint begins to feel a little embarrassed that a demi god is crouched down staring at his groin for so long. “I will need to return to Asgard to research these markings.”

 

“Wait, Thor,” Bruce says as the thunderer stands. “You can’t tell anyone. Not a soul. You have to promise that you won’t say what happened.”

 

“I know how to read, I can research it myself,” Thor chuckles as Clint begins to fasten his jeans again. “You have my word. Not a soul will know what happened. I must away now.”

 

And then Bruce and Clint are alone in the room.

 

Clint shuffles over to his cabinets and pulls out an unopened bottle of Vodka and a glass. After pouring a generous amount for himself he rejoins Bruce in the living room and sits down on the couch, nodding for Bruce to take the seat beside him.  
  
"Gift from Nat. Never thought I'd bother with it before now." he says, smiling shakily as he lifts the glass to his lips.

 

“How are you feeling?” Bruce asks, clasping his hands together and leaning forward on his knees. He tries to read Clint’s body language, but right now all he can see is panic, panic, and more panic.

 

"Like a god just spit on my groin and then told me I might be marked with his brother's name for the rest of my life." Clint laughs. There really aren't words for how he feels right now. At least none that he can settle on. He's scared and angry and disgusted but none of those seem strong enough to properly describe what's going on in his mind right now.

 

Bruce swallows. “We _will_ get those markings off you. I promise, Clint. Whatever it takes, I’ll be here to help you.”

 

Clint shakes his head and takes another drink. "What if it's not possible? You've seen the scars, they aren't something you can cut away and no tattoo removal is going to get them off. And if Thor can't find anything then I'm branded for the rest of my life. And like you said, you shouldn't have to look at his name every time we fuck."

 

“Until we know for sure that we can’t get the markings off, we’re going to believe that we can,” Bruce says firmly. “Do you understand me?”

 

"Yeah, alright." Clint nods. He takes another drink and sets down the glass so he can lean against Bruce's shoulder. "You're right. We can't give up yet. And even if we can't get rid of them maybe there's some Asgardian concealer or something I can use to cover them up."

 

Bruce rubs his thumbs over Clint’s knees, watching his hands tremble. “You’re going to be fine, Clint. _We’re_ going to be fine.” He leans forward and kisses Clint’s forehead. “Now, I’m going to go. I’ve got work down in the labs to do, and you should probably try to get some sleep.”

 

He wanted nothing more than to stay, but he feared getting intimate again and frightening Clint again. He couldn’t handle getting yelled at again.

 

"Oh." Clint says a little sadly as Bruce stands up from the couch. He had hoped the man would stay with him a little longer. Now that he's admitted what happened he doesn't really want to be alone. But he put a lot on Bruce today and if he wants to be alone for a while to process it all he has that right. Clint can't complain considering how often he's done the same thing. "Right, yeah. I'll see you soon?" he asks hopefully.

 

“Tomorrow,” Bruce promises, reaching out to take Clint’s hand for a moment before retreating from the apartment. He wants nothing more than to follow Thor to Asgard and research until his eyes fall out of his head, but he’s got his own problems, and focusing on them might keep him from worrying so much about Clint.

 

He returns to the labs and works well through the night. Tony finds him asleep at his lab table the next morning, glasses beside him, hair a mess, and drooling on his arm. Clara thought it was cute, but Tony was the one to prod him in the side and tell him to go take a shower and get some sleep. Bruce did half of that, and came back down to the lab when he was showered, dressed and shaved.

 

“I already slept, I guess,” he shrugged when Tony gave him a scolding look. “I’m not tired. Let’s work, come on.”

 

Clint comes down around lunch time, using the stairs this time, and drops off another bag lunch for Bruce. He tries to say hello but Bruce is deep in conversation with Tony and Clara about some new test results. None of them even notice he's there so he just sets the bag on Bruce's table by his computer and silently slips back out of the lab to let them work.

 

Bruce notices the bag lunch about ten minutes later and immediately looks around, but Clint isn’t anywhere nearby. He frowns up at the vent over his head before resigning to eat the sandwich Clint left for him. It was tuna. And it was amazing. Clint always added something, something sweet to it. Damn if Bruce could ever figure it out, but he loves Clint’s tuna.

 

Just when the three of them think they’ve reached a breakthrough, some part of the equation will fall through and they’re back to square one. Three weeks of this and they’re starting to get a little frustrated.

 

“Maybe we’re just not thinking about this deeply enough. Let’s try it with that equation we used last week that almost worked, and try to layer another equation over it to fill in the holes. There’s more than one layer of DNA inside me… maybe we need more than one equation.”

 

“That’s actually brilliant,” Clara sat up a little straighter.

 

“Actually?” Bruce lifts his brows at her with a grin. “You little shit.”

 

During this time Clint doesn't see much of Bruce. He brings him lunch and sometimes Bruce will notice him and thank him with a smile but most of the time he's too absorbed in conversation to notice anything at all. Even if he's not Clara is always within sight so Clint can't even give him a quick peck on the cheek. He's not entirely sure why they haven't told Clara about their relationship. The only reason he can come up with is that things were shaky in the beginning and Bruce didn't want to advertise their relationship while it was so tenuous. But as much as he likes to think they're past that stage they still haven't told anyone else in the tower, except Tony. But if Bruce wants to keep things quiet for now Clint isn't going to fight him about it.  
  
At night Bruce will come up to Clint's floor and they'll have dinner. Clint usually invites him to stay longer, to watch a movie or just discuss his work but Bruce always excuses himself to go work more in the lab. They haven't so much as kissed since that night when Clint threw him out. It weighs on Clint's mind, growing worse every time he sees the mark on his skin that ruined it all.

 

“So, when did your and Clint’s relationship start?” Clara asks one day, long after Tony convinced Bruce to finally say something to her.

 

“Actually, one day before you and Marshall showed up on the train,” Bruce laughs. “It’s a good thing you two showed up or we might never have stopped, ah,”

 

“I’m a grown up, Bruce,” Clara smiled at him. “I know what a penis is and everything.”

 

Bruce gave a nervous chuckle and looked back down at his work. “Anyway, we bought a house together and Brazil and we just… stayed together.”

 

“Do you love him?” Clara asks, and Bruce stops his typing for a moment.

 

“Yes,” he says quietly, and Clara gives a little squeal.

 

They don’t talk much about Bruce and Clint’s relationship after that. They talk about her waitress friend (how she’s a knockout blonde with a good heart and she should _really_ meet Steve because he’d fall for her in a heartbeat) and they talk about guys that Clara is interested in (no one really, she wants someone clever _and_ handsome, like Bruce, and that combination is hard to come by in the science field) and they even talk about Pepper and Tony, but Bruce deliberately halts most conversation about his relationship with Clint. Mostly because it’s so fragile, and he doesn’t want to get his hopes worked up and then lose Clint again.

 

Two weeks after that, and they’ve found the combination of equations that fill one another’s holes perfectly, and they’re finally, _finally_ one step closer to their end goal.

 

“Can we pinpoint yet at what place our DNA will cross?” Bruce asks, looking over Clara’s shoulder anxiously. He really wants to know if he’s going to have to prepare himself for a life with green skin.

 

“Not yet, but we’re close,” Clara assures him with a broad smile.

 

Clint leaves the gym where he was sparring with Natasha and heads down to the lab to get Bruce for their usual dinner date. His lip is split and he can feel one of his eyes swelling shut thanks to a well placed punch. But he feels good. A match with Natasha always leaves him refreshed and relaxed. The perfect mindset for a man about to have dinner with the person he loves.  
  
But then he reaches the labs. Bruce and Clara are there, smiling and laughing over some project that Clint could never understand, no matter how many hours Bruce spent trying to explain it to him. But that's why Bruce and Clara get along so well. They speak the same language and they understand each others' jokes and they can sit and chat over coffee like Bruce and Clint just can't.   
  
Clint watches them for a moment before going back to the stairs. They're obviously entrenched in something and one dinner isn't really a big deal. They'll eat together tomorrow, like usual.

 

Tony happens to look up and make eye contact with Clint through the plate glass wall, but he doesn’t say anything as Clint slinks away.

 

When Bruce rubs Clint’s shoulders like usual, he’ll babble on and on about his experiment, using terms that Clint couldn’t even begin to understand, but Bruce seems to be so used to talking about it with Tony and Clara that it doesn’t cross his mind Clint has no idea what he’s talking about.

 

“And once we converge the equations into the proper meters, we’ll finally have a spectrum, and then from there we can finally isolate the exact position the two sequences of DNA will merge!” Bruce says giddily, rubbing his thumbs in circles over Clint’s back.

 

Clint smiles and says "That's great!" Trying to be excited despite it becoming more and more obvious how stupid he is compared to Bruce. Every word Bruce says goes in one ear and out the other but as long as he smiles and agrees whenever Bruce stops to draw breath the scientist doesn't seem to notice. Which he supposes is fine since he doesn't have anything to contribute anyway. Nothing he's done will impress Bruce so it's better he just sits and listens, secretly looking forward to when they're finished and Bruce leaves him again to go back down to the labs.

 

“It is great,” Bruce agrees quieter, smiling as he knocks his forehead between Clint’s shoulder blades, the last of the lotion rubbed into his skin. “Well, I’m sorry to leave you again but we were just about to start running the equation, and if we figure it out today I don’t want to miss it. Come down later and remind me to come up to dinner, would you? I forgot last night.” He hands Clint his shirt and strokes the corner of his mouth with his thumb for just a moment before bidding him farewell and rushing back down to the lab.

 

Clint sighs in relief and goes to his room to lay down for a while before he has to go fetch Bruce. He over sleeps and ends up running down to the lab ten minutes later than usual.

 

“Whoa, Clint, where’s the fire?” Bruce asks when Clint comes bursting in through the lab doors.

 

“But you – ” Clint pants, looking up at the clock on the wall. Bruce’s eyes follow.

 

“Oh. Clint, it’s okay if you’re late. I’m not on a schedule,” Bruce laughs.

 

"You've been so busy with your experiments, I didn't want to disturb anything." Clint replies. "We made plans and I wasn't sure if you had experiments going based on that. Anyway, I'm making chicken curry and rice."

 

Bruce instantly looks brighter and stands up from his table. “Give me two minutes to wrap everything up here and I’ll meet you,” he says with a smile. Clint seems wary, but backs out of the lab.

 

“It’s so cute that you eat dinner with him every night,” Clara smiles once Clint is gone, and begins to collect her things in her bag.

 

“It’s always my favorite part of the day,” Bruce smiles tucking his glasses in his pocket and powering down his computer. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

With a brief hand on her shoulder, he whisks out of the lab and into the elevator, and he can already almost taste the curry on his tongue. Six years in brazil will do that to a man, he supposes, as he steps out of the elevator and heads towards Clint’s door.

 

Clint is at the counter, mixing ingredients while he waits for Bruce. Things between them have been off these last few weeks. He's always been comfortable around Bruce, more so than around anyone else except Tasha. But now he's felt so out of place, at times wishing Bruce would leave so he wouldn't feel so inferior anymore.   
  
He can't help feeling like it's his fault. He pushed Bruce away and now there's a gap between them. That gap needs to be bridged, if he doesn't want to lose Bruce and he's the only one who can do it. So tonight he's going to show Bruce just how much he wants him. They'll have their dinner and when Bruce starts to leave for the labs Clint will make him stay. He'll prove to Bruce that their relationship hasn't changed and he still wants him. Tonight they'll be intimate and he won't ruin like he did last time. Bruce knows about him and Loki now so he has nothing to hide. Tonight he'll prove to Bruce how much he loves him.  
  
A knock at the door interrupts his thoughts.

 

“Hey sweet heart,” Bruce kisses Clint’s cheek as he sidles past him into the kitchen and leans against the edge of the table. Clint smiles at him and moves back to the counter, and he’s really trying to keep his anxiousness to a minimum. Having sex with Bruce shouldn’t scare him as much as it is right now.

 

“You know,” Bruce starts after a moment, lifting an apple from a bowl on the table so his hands can play with something. “I don’t think I’ve ever mentioned it… but I’m really glad that you let me in before dinner’s made. Most people will wait until dinner is ready before the ‘date’ starts, but… I don’t know, I like that you include me in the cooking process. Even if I’m just watching.”

 

He steps up next to Clint and rolls the apple between his hands on the counter as the archer begins to cut up the chicken. “It’s really… it’s really fascinating. I don’t know a damn thing about cooking, and you make it look so easy. It’s just… it’s effortless for you. I’m jealous.”

 

"I know what I like and I know what works well together." Clint says, reaching over and plucking the apple out of Bruce's hands. He smiles to himself as he turns back to the chicken. It's a little nice knowing he can do something Bruce can't, even if it's something as simple as cooking. Compared to the work Bruce does a few simple meals isn't much but it makes him proud to be able to contribute something. "If you want to help you can peel and cut up the potatoes. I'm sure you're more than skilled enough to do that." he teases, pointing to the waiting ingredients.

 

Bruce cuts his finger in the process of peeling the first potato, and Clint allows him to resign to just a spectator again, while he holds a napkin around the bleeding digit. “This is embarrassing,” he mutters with a little chuckle, trying to get the throbbing in his finger to go down.

 

"It's fine. Do you think you can set the table for me? You know where my few dishes are, right?" Clint asks.

 

Bruce is happy to be able to do that right as he sets out their bowls and forks and napkins and cups. Then he steps up behind Clint and wraps his arms around his waist and rests his chin on his shoulder, and it’s _exactly_ like it used to be in Brazil for that one beautiful moment.

 

“God that smells good,” Bruce smiles, closing his eyes so he can breathe it in.

 

"It'll taste better." Clint replies, leaning back into Bruce's touch. He's as warm and gentle as he remembers and for a moment his anxiety melts away. This is how he's supposed to feel with Bruce, and it will only be better after tonight.

 

“I bet it will,” Bruce kisses the side of Clint’s jaw and moves back to the table. He’s trying to ease Clint back into his touches, and so far it really seems to be working. He just has to remind himself every time he touches Clint that he has to take it slow. And once Thor finds a way to get rid of the marks, then they will make love again, and it will be the most amazing thing ever. He just has to make sure he doesn’t accidentally push Clint too far too fast, or he’ll run away.

 

Forty minutes later Clint carries out two plates and the two of them settle around the table. Clint tries to listen attentively to Bruce's science babble while they eat. When he can he takes Bruce's hand briefly or settles his own on the man's knee. Little cues to show Bruce that he's ready for them to take a few steps forward in their relationship.

 

Bruce can tell that Clint is touching him more than usual, and while it makes his entire body reel when those hands are on him, when he looks into Clint’s eyes he doesn’t see lust, or even love – he sees fear. Fear and determination. He knows that Clint wants to push things, but Bruce is afraid of things moving too fast and then Clint coming to regret it.

 

They sit at the table even after they’ve finished eating, feeling full and warm and happy, and Bruce makes a point to ask about how Clint likes the current bow he’s working with, and if he wants Bruce to do any fine tuning on it.

 

An hour or so later they’re finally wrapping up, and Bruce can see Clint’s eyes hardening, like he’s working up to do something that should take a lot less effort than it does.

 

Bruce stands to leave and Clint sees that it's his last chance. He's been working up to this all night. He feels a little shaky and a bit sick to his stomach but he's not letting Bruce leave him again tonight. So he stands too and closes in on Bruce, blocking his way to the door. Clint takes him by the hips and pulls him forward so that they're pressed together and kisses him soundly on the lips.

 

Bruce wants to moan, wants to let this happen, but god he can’t. He should feel arousal with Clint pressed against him. He should feel _Clint’s_ arousal. But all he can feel from Clint is force and fright and it’s making him cold even as he runs his lips over and over Clint’s.

 

Clint opens his mouth against Bruce's and traces the seam of him lips with his tongue, waiting for them to open and admit him as they always do. He shouldn't be this scared, he knows he shouldn't. This is Bruce. This is what he wants. He just has to remind himself of that. They just need to get through tonight and he'll remember how good it can feel and he won't be scared any more. After tonight it'll all go back to normal.

 

Bruce suddenly groans and pushes Clint away by his shoulders. “Clint, no,” he shakes his head. “This… this isn’t right. Come on. You’re still freaking out; I can feel it in the way you’re holding yourself. The way you’re holding _me_.”

 

"No!" Clint says, trying to draw Bruce back to him. "Bruce I'm fine. I'm not freaking out, I want this. I want to be with you. Please."

 

“No, you’re forcing this,” Bruce says, still keeping distance between him and Clint. “I can tell, Clint, I’m not a fool. I can tell you’re forcing it because… it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel right for you either, I can see that much in your eyes.”

 

"I want you." Clint says again. His voice is weak like he's close to tears. Bruce has never turned him away before. He's doing something wrong but he doesn't know what it is. He's doing the same things he always does but it's not working anymore. Bruce doesn't want him anymore.

 

“Forcing yourself on me will not erase the trauma you’ve experienced, Clint,” Bruce says, cupping the sides of Clint’s face. “You think you can forget the bad memories if you replace them with good ones – and it’s normal to think that way after you’ve experienced something like this but that doesn’t mean it’s right. You’ll just resent yourself later if you do this – and I’ll resent myself if I let you. We’ll revisit this once the runes are gone, okay? Once those markings are erased and you don’t have to look at the reminder of what happened every single day anymore.”

 

Clint pulls away from him, turning his back on the older man and busies himself clearing away the dishes. He can't even look at Bruce because Bruce doesn't understand. He's not some victim who needs to be treated with kid gloves. He knows what he needs and how to fix himself. But Bruce thinks he's so fragile that he won't even touch him any more and that makes him as sick to his stomach as anything else they could have done tonight.  
  
"I think it's time for you to go." he says hoarsely, refusing to turn around and face him.

 

“Clint, please,” Bruce takes a step closer. “I’m not doing this because I don’t want to be with you at all, please… you have to understand what this is like for me.”

 

"I get it." Clint snaps. He picks up their dishes and takes them into the kitchen, practically throwing them into the sink. He does understand. He understands all too well. Bruce thinks he's something small and breakable now because he made a mistake and he won't touch him like that until there isn't any evidence left. He completely understands.

 

“Clint,” Bruce’s voice is thick. “I don’t want to leave when you’re angry with me. That’s how we start avoiding each other all over again.”

 

"I'm not angry." Clint lies. "Just go back to the lab and I'll see you tomorrow. I want some space right now."

 

“Right,” Bruce swallows. “See… see you tomorrow.”

 

He doesn’t say anything else, leaves the apartment maybe a little too quickly.

In the elevator ride back down to the lab, he gets his first second thoughts, and he hates himself for it.

 

Is this relationship with Clint really worth it? There seems to be more bad than good, and Clint’s so easily angered over these things that Bruce is trying to be so careful about. He doesn’t think he can ever be with anyone but Clint. It’s Clint, or loneliness for the rest of his life. And at this point, even though it makes him sick to his stomach to admit it, being alone might be easier than trying to make peace with a man as broken as Clint.

 

Clint abandons the dirty dishes and now chipped glasses He leaves his apartment in search of either Natasha or a bar where he can get into a fight. Because he's pissed at himself and at Bruce and the only way he can think to work that out is through a few punches.

 

Bruce arrives back in the lab and Tony knows the expression on his face all too well now as he settles back at his station with a sigh, taking off his glasses so he can rub at his eyes wearily.

 

"You should dump him." Tony says without even looking up from his computer. Bruce hasn't looked like that in a while but this time seems worse than the few times before. He isn't just sad or angry but lost. Like he doesn't even know where he is anymore and in Tony's opinion when someone makes you that miserable it's time to start looking at other options.  
  
“I’m not going to dump him,” Bruce says weakly, but there’s hardly any conviction in his words. “I can’t just give up on him.”

 

"He's a grown man. He should be able to take care of himself by now. If he's making you miserable I say it's time to move on." Tony replies. He turns and frowns at Bruce who looks about ten years older than he is. "He's giving you grey hair and wrinkles and you don't need that kind of stress. So dump him, I'll fly you out to Malibu and set you up with two very nice twins I know."

 

“Yeah, well, Tony, it’s not your say,” Bruce says, but he still doesn’t lift his head out of his hands. “I’m not leaving him because we’ve had a few misunderstandings.”

 

"You sound so sure about that." Tony replies with a roll of his eyes. "If you want my advice, and you do, make up your mind fast. Questioning yourself isn't good for your health and keeping him hanging by a thread wondering if there's any hope or not isn't good for him. So you gotta ask yourself if it's worth it and if it's not then cut him loose. Because he's not going anywhere unless you tell him too."

 

“I’m not telling him to leave again!” Bruce is suddenly on his feet, his hand slamming down on the table with rage that pulled through him so hard and so fast he’s not even surprised by the fear that flashest through Tony’s eyes for just a second. He does get it in check though, and picks up the stool he knocked over in his haste and sinks back down into it. “If this relationship ends, it’s because he doesn’t want it anymore… but I’m not going to walk away from him again. I won’t do it again.”

 

Tony rolls his eyes and goes back to his project, deciding that Bruce doesn't need to know about how Clint hangs around like a lost puppy some days. He'll figure it out on his own eventually. "Whatever you say man. Wanna run those equations again?"

 

Bruce sighs more heavily and nearly pulls his hair out when he runs his hands through it. “Yeah. Yeah, let’s do that.” He says weakly.


	9. Chapter 9

He doesn’t see Clint tomorrow. He figures as much. Clara can see Bruce’s grief and she asks him what happened, but he really doesn’t want to talk about it and she’s okay with that. She reminds him that she’s here for him, whatever she needs to do, and he thanks her for it. She kisses his forehead. He likes the gesture, it reminds him of when she was just a little girl and she was so brave. He wants to embrace her and he wants to cry, but neither seem like very appropriate options, so he keeps muscling through.

 

He doesn’t see Clint for the next few days, either. He knew Clint would be avoiding him, and maybe it’s partially his fault for not chasing after him, but he really doesn’t want to be cornered in Clint’s apartment again, and frankly with how he left things last time, he doesn’t want to go to him on the range again while he’s got weapons in his hands.

 

And just when it seems like it’s all bad news all the time, they finally come to a real breakthrough in the lab.

 

They pinpoint where his DNA will cross with the Hulk’s.

 

“Looks like you’ll gain about 45 pounds of muscle,” Tony says as he turns the screen. “And your eyes will turn green. I can’t say anything for your personality, but you’re going to look like freaking Superman with where all the muscles settle.”

 

Bruce actually blushes as he looks at the screen. It’s a computer generated image of himself with broad, broad shoulders, a wide chest, and a slim waist sloping into slender hips and muscular legs. He looks like the caricature of every muscular super hero ever combined, and he can hardly believe he’s going to look like that for real.

 

“That’s just weird,” he says with a chuckle.

 

“Man, nobody’s gonna be able to keep their hands _off_ you if you look like that!” Clara laughs.

 

Meanwhile Clint is up his room, checking his face to see how the damage is healing like he's been doing every day since his and Bruce's fight.  
  
He hadn't been able to find Natasha so he had gone out and gotten himself into a bar fight. But what he thought was only going to be two guys turned into six big beefy men with a lot of anger. He probably could have gotten away when they dragged him out to the alley and beat the stuffing out of him but with how low he was feeling he couldn't be bothered. He'd thrown a few punches but didn't put in any real effort until they had him spitting blood. It wasn't until he had gotten home that he realized just how wrecked his face was. He couldn't face Bruce like that, as much as he wanted to go find him and apologize a few thousand times for being such a dick.  
  
But now most of the bruises have faded, at least the ones that Bruce will be able to see and he thinks in another day or two he'll be able to go find Bruce and explain everything.   
  
He's turning from the mirror when he hears a knock at the door. Only Bruce ever visits him and his heart soars as he rushes to let him in.

 

“Bruce – ” he throws the door open, but he’s suddenly nipple-level with Thor, who was standing much too close to the door to begin with.

 

“I have found the way to rid you of the markings,” Thor says, holding up a book he had crooked under one arm. “But it will not be easy, and it will not be painless. I have collected the necessary ingredients for the ritual, but I am not a mage of any sort, I have very little experience with this. However, I am the only one who can help you. Are you prepared to go through the steps now?”

 

That's almost better. Clint beams up at Thor, so happy he almost hugs him. They can remove the markings, he'll apologize to Bruce and everything will be perfect. It couldn't be better.  
  
"Yeah, let me just get Bruce alright?" he says, stepping aside so Thor can enter the apartment. "Make yourself comfortable. I think I might have poptarts in the kitchen if you want some. I'll be back in a minute."   
  
He doesn't wait for an answer but pushes past Thor and sprints down to the lab, not bothering with the elevator because honestly, running is faster at this point. Bruce is going to be thrilled when he finds out. And once they remove the markings there will be no reason for Bruce to hold back anymore.

 

He charges to the lab doors and he’s so happy, but what he sees makes his blood curdle in his veins. Clara is up on her tip toes with her arms around Bruce’s neck so tight he should probably be choking and his arms are tight around her slim waist and he spins her around and they’re both grinning and laughing and Clint’s heart breaks.

 

They look absolutely perfect. Two beautiful, smart, kind people who fit together like they were made for each other. And Bruce is so happy. He hasn't smiled like that for Clint since Brazil. Bruce deserves someone who can make him smile like that every day, not a broken mess who throws him out of his apartment on a regular basis because he's scared.   
  
It breaks Clint's heart but he knows he can't hold onto Bruce when he's so clearly meant for someone else. And he won't intrude on their happiness to remind Bruce of how broken he is.   
  
He stays there and watches them for a moment, waiting to see if the happiness will fade but it doesn't. They're still beaming, so happy they practically glow. Tears drip down his cheeks and he knows it's time to go. So he turns and climbs back up the stairs, moving so slowly it's like he's trying to pass through water rather than through air.  
  
"You know what Thor," he says when he gets back to his apartment to find the god sitting on his couch beside an empty box of poptarts. "I don't think now will be a good time. I need some time to prepare, alright? I'll come find you tomorrow."

 

Thor leaves the book on Clint’s couch. “Very well. I will await your call,” he says with a nod, and walks out of the apartment, leaving Clint alone.

 

Clint shuts the door behind him and goes to the kitchen for his bottle of Vodka. This time he takes the whole bottle and a glass back into the living room where he falls onto the couch. The glass is really for looks because he's sure that in about ten minutes he's going to be drinking straight out of the bottle.

 

“God, I have to tell Clint,” Bruce beams at Clara and Tony, running his hands through his hair as he swipes the files onto his pocket tablet. “He’s gonna be so thrilled that this is finally coming through!”

 

Tony doesn’t say anything as Bruce rushes out of the lab; he just shoves his hands down into his pockets. He saw Clint through the plate glass of the lab, he saw the way the archer watched Clara and Bruce hug. And he’s pretty freaking sick and tired of watching Bruce and Clint tango around each other through misunderstanding after misunderstanding, neither of them having enough balls to pin the other down and explain everything. “You keep working, I’m gonna go take a walk. I’m going stir crazy, haven’t left the lab for like four days,” Tony laughs and saunters out of the lab and towards the range, because he knows there’s no way in hell Clint is in his apartment.

 

And Bruce finds that out quickly when Clint doesn’t answer his knocks. He thinks at first, maybe he’s just ignoring him, but after a second of begging that he knows Clint wouldn’t ignore, he’s not in there.

 

“He must be out with Tasha,” he mutters to himself, pocketing his tablet with a sigh. “I’ll just show him later, I guess.”

 

Clint takes another swig from the bottle, knocks his arrow and closes his eyes before letting it fly. This is so much more satisfying than just getting drunk on his couch. Here he can get drunk and work out some of his anger on the unsuspecting target. Plus, since he's drunk which isn't too terribly different from being drugged, he can count it as training to see how well his skills hold up when he's under the influence of something. So no one can get mad at him.  
  
He opens his eyes and takes another drink. The arrow hit dead center. So clearly he's not drunk enough yet.

 

Tony punches in the code for the range and walks in casually, Clint’s eyes still straining on his target. “Hey,” he calls out, but Clint doesn’t respond. “Clint,” he says a little louder, but the archer lets another arrow fly like he’s not even paying attention.

 

Frowning in annoyance, Tony leans against the wall directly behind where Clint’s shooting and watches him for a few seconds. The way his muscles are taut and his bow is shaking.

 

“Look, I saw you down at the lab,” Tony says after a minute with a sigh. “I saw you playing peeping tom on Bruce and little kitty Clara. And I know you’re upset, and it’s clear you have a hundred kinds of issues and I don’t know what Bruce sees in you to be honest, but if you want him you can’t keep letting him walk away from you.”

 

Clint lets another arrow fly. He doesn’t say a word.

 

“Oi, are you even listening to me?” Tony extends his leg and kicks Clint gently in the back of the knee. He was expecting a curse maybe, a stumble sure, but Clint whips around so suddenly with his arrow pointed directly at Tony’s head and he thinks he peed himself a little as he throws his hands up with a cry.

 

"Shit Stark." Clint laughs, lowering his bow. "Could have killed you. Don't sneak up on a guy while he's training."   
  
An unfair accusation to be sure because it wasn't Tony's fault. Clint had taken out his hearing aids so he wouldn't be disturbed. He hadn't expected anyone to be crazy enough to actually make contact with him while he was shooting.

 

“Sneaking up on you?” Tony repeated, lowering his hands. “I’ve been talking at the back of your head for like five minutes.”

 

"I was in the zone." he giggles. He turns and sets down his bow and takes another drink from the half empty bottle. Here's another training opportunity, seeing how well he can lip read while drunk.  
  
"So what do you want?" he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Tony sucks in a breath, mirroring Clint with his own arms. “I want to know why you came down to the lab only to run away again.”

 

"Really isn't your business, is it Stark? Or are the labs off limits now unless you have an invitation?" Clint responds, glowering at the older man.

 

“I saw the way you were looking at Bruce and Clara,” Tony says. “Like your whole world was coming down around your feet.”

 

Clint frowns and almost looks away. But he can't because if he does he won't know what Tony is saying so he holds steady, meeting the man's gaze as surely as he can.  
  
"What do you care if it is?" he asks. "Shouldn't you be happy? I know you don't like me with Bruce. You're probably ready to start planning his and Clara's wedding."

 

“You’re right. I am,” Tony smirks. “They’re pretty perfect together. And oh, you should see the way she fawns all over him like the doe-eyed thing she is. She’s practically in love with him.”

 

"Fuck you Stark." Clint growls and grabs his bottle. It's exactly what he's been thinking but he doesn't like Tony saying it. Because if Tony can see it too that just makes it more real.

 

“Hey, I’m just being honest. Bruce is a lost cause. You should give up on him.” Tony shrugs. “You’re just gonna get hurt if you keep crawling in his dust.”

 

"I know that!" Clint shouts. He throws the bottle and watches with satisfaction as it shatters again the wall, clear liquid spilling everywhere and glass shards covering the floor. "I fucking know that Stark! I know he's too fucking good for me and I'm just holding him back. I know he'd be better off with Clara and I'm going to fucking tell him that so shut the hell up!"

 

“Hey, cool off guy, I’m just making sure we’re on the same page,” Tony lifts his hands again. “I just wanted to make sure you knew that too. Wanted to make sure that you’re a clean slate.”

 

"What the hell are you talking about?" Clint asks, sure he read Tony wrong or at least is misinterpreting. Because Tony can't mean what he thinks he means.

 

“I’m interested,” Tony pushes off the wall and takes a step towards Clint. “ _Really_ interested. I’m glad Clara has got Bruce by the nutsack, because I’ve been jealous of him the whole time. I’ve wanted you, Clint. Still want you. Want you bad.”

 

"You have got to be kidding me." Clint says, taking a step back so there's still plenty of space between him and Tony. This doesn't make any sense. Tony's never shown the slightest interest in him. Besides, he's taken. "You're a fucking liar. You've got Pepper." Clint accuses.

 

“Why the hell would I lie about sex?” Tony snorts, still closing in on Clint. “Pepper and me, we’re not exclusive. She’s in Natasha’s pants.” He takes a moment to watch Clint’s eyes widen. “What, she never told you that? Tsk tsk. Anyway, I haven’t taken advantage of my side of our open relationship yet – the deal was she can get with other women and I can get with other men, but… well, no one’s really caught my eye. Not since you. But you’ve been following Bruce around like a wounded puppy. Now you’re finally free of him. And fuck, Clint, I _want_ you.”

 

Clint side steps around him, keeping well out of reach. This is wrong on so many levels. He's still with Bruce. And even if he wasn't, or when he isn't, he won't want Tony. He can't imagine wanting anyone after Bruce. He loves Bruce and could never replace him, especially not with Bruce’s best friend.  
  
"No. I don't want you Tony. I don't want anyone but Bruce." he says, the vodka having loosened his tongue sufficiently that he can admit it out loud.

 

“Yeah well, you can’t have Bruce,” Tony says, and suddenly he’s got Clint by the wrists and he pushes him against a wall. “But you _can_ have me. Right here, right now, against this wall.”

 

"Fuck off!" Clint says, lifting his leg and kneeing Tony hard in the stomach. Tony stumbles back, freeing Clint and allowing the archer to fall into a defensive stance. "I don't fucking want you Stark! I don't want anyone but Bruce because I fucking love him! So stay away from me!"

 

And suddenly Clint is charging from the range, leaving his bow – and his hearing aids – behind.

 

Tony rubs his gut with a moan of pain. “Well, at least it worked,” he groans, hoping it won’t bruise.

 

Clint goes running for the stairs, charging down them to the lab at a full sprint. He throws open the door and storms over to Bruce, not caring that Clara is there and can see them. He doesn't stop but grabs Bruce by the wrists, turning him to face him and pulling him into a deep, rough kiss. Bruce is clearly startled but Clint doesn't let him pull away until they're both out of breath,  
  
"I'm sorry." he says, all his words tumbling out of his mouth in a rush. "You were right, I was pushing and I shouldn't have and I shouldn't have thrown you out like that. I wanted to prove to you that I could be with you because I was scared of losing you and I probably have anyway but you still have to know this. I'm not smart and I'm not a good person and I've got more issues than I can even name but I'm working on that and I'm getting a degree so even though I won't be as smart as you I'll be closer and that doesn't make me worthy of being with you but I still want to because I fucking love you Bruce please don’t leave me for Clara!"

 

Bruce just blinks in shock at the mess of a man before him, hands still thrown up in defense from when Clint charged at him full tilt.

 

“You – what?” he says, completely lost. “I’m sorry… wh – leave you for Clara? Why on Earth do you think I’m going to leave you for Clara?”

 

“You know what, I feel like this is a bad time for me to be here, I think I have to use the bathroom,” Clara mutters and begins to slink away.

 

"You look so happy with her." Clint says weakly. "And she gets you. You two can talk to each other about everything while I understand maybe one eighth of what you say to me. And she's pretty and nice and young and smart and perfect for you."

 

“Clint, I don’t want Clara,” Bruce shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter how pretty she is, or how smart she is, because she’s _not_ perfect for me.” He steps closer to Clint, hands on his waist. “ _You’re_ perfect for me.”

 

"I don't want to lose you." Clint says, dropping his eyes. "I love you too much. I couldn't handle it if I lost you and my only other option was Tony."

 

“Tony – what?”

 

“You said don’t meddle,” Tony says from the doorway with a shrug. “I meddled. Saved your sorry relationship.” He walks forward and outstretches his hand. “Clint might want these.”

 

Bruce reaches over Clint’s shoulder and opens his palm, and two tiny devices fall from Tony’s hand into his. Clint’s looking up now and sees Tony standing there and Bruce staring at the little wires in his hand.

 

"Yeah can I have those?" Clint says, holding his hand out to Bruce. "This will be a shitload easier if I don't have to lipread everything."

 

“Lipread – ” Bruce stops when he watches Clint put the wires in his ears. “Oh… oh my god, Clint, are you deaf?”

 

"About 87% hearing loss. So technically deaf yeah. If the Hulk shouted in my ear I'd hear it." Clint says, settling the second device inside his ear canal and trying hard not to think about how he just told Bruce he loves him, twice, and Bruce still hasn't said anything. "Happened about four years ago, I barely even notice anymore."

 

Bruce’s mouth is hanging open now. “You – you’re deaf and you didn’t think to tell me? In all the times we had dinner it didn’t cross your mind to mention that you can’t hear?”

 

"I could hear you fine. I usually have my hearing aids in. Honestly it didn't seem important." Clint shrugs. "I was too close to an explosion and the blast fucked up my eardrums. There isn't much to it. Tony, would you mind giving us some privacy, please?" He adds, looking over his shoulder at the billionaire who's still just standing there.

 

“Just thought you should know I’m not actually interested in you,” Tony says, shrugging again. “Also, don’t tell Pepper what I said about her and Natasha, it isn’t true. You know, if you could just avoid mentioning anything that happened down in the range that’d be stupendous. I just did what I had to, to get you two back in each other arms, since you were both letting your balls drag on the ground.” He says nothing else as he walks out of the lab.

 

Bruce looks down at Clint with worry in his eyes. “What happened in the range?” he asks.

 

"You heard Tony, I'm not supposed to talk about it." Clint replies, his face heating up out of shame.

 

“You’re not supposed to tell Pepper,” Bruce takes both of Clint’s upper arms in his hands. “What happened in the range?”

 

Clint sighs and leans a little into Bruce's arms, letting the other man support him. "I came down here and I saw you and Clara grinning and hugging and I thought you two were so perfect together. So I got a bottle of vodka and went down to the range because I was sure you'd prefer her to me. Then Tony came down and he agreed with me. He said you two were perfect and I should give you up so you could be with her. Then he said since I was free he wanted me and had for a long time so I kicked him."

 

“Did he touch you?” Bruce asks, wondering how far Tony would take his ‘meddling.’ Clint says nothing, so he pushes him back to look him in the eye. “ _Did he touch you?_ ”

 

"He grabbed my wrists and trapped me against a wall, that's all." Clint replies. "You heard him, he was just trying to make me stop being an idiot."

 

“Yeah, well, Tony’s an idiot too,” Bruce says, taking Clint’s face in both his hands and running his thumbs over the younger man’s cheek bones. “And when he gets an idea in his head he’ll do whatever it takes to see it through.” He rakes his head back through the giant run-on sentence Clint babbled at him before, trying to remember some of the finer points. “Did you say you’re working on a degree?”

 

"That's what caught your attention?" Clint laughs but it comes out choked and wrong, caught between a laugh and a sob. "Yeah, I take online courses."

 

Bruce grins. “That’s great!” he says. “How are you doing? I bet you’re doing great.” He continues to rub and touch Clint’s face and shoulders and hair, solidifying the man in front of him and reassuring himself that Clint isn’t going to run away scared that Bruce is leaving him. “Oh – oh! More good news, we finally pinpointed where the DNA will cross!” he edges from between Clint and the table to swivel the tablet screen towards Clint, so he can see the diagram of Bruce’s future body.

 

"Yeah. That's great." Clint says, clearly disheartened. He looks at the image because Bruce wants him to and ultimately finds he doesn't care that much. Bruce is ignoring the important things. He's avoiding reacting to Clint's confession which is better than an outright rejection but it still leaves him feeling cold. Bruce would rather talk about college courses or lab work than deal with the fact that Clint loves him and really, what did he expect? That coming down here and laying it all out would suddenly change things? Bruce still wants him, great. But that doesn't change his priorities.

 

It wouldn’t be until much later that Bruce realizes Clint had confessed at all. In the blur of words Clint had shouted at him all in a rush, it was a miracle that Bruce had heard any of it.

 

“Now we just have to finish the construction of the containment cell, finalize the tests on cells and skin grafts, and we can move into the final stages of experimentation and then finally implementation,” he looks away from the screen to see Clint looking very upset, and his smile falls. “What’s wrong?” he asks, stepping away from the screen towards his crestfallen lover.

 

"Nothing." Clint says, putting on a smile. Smiling always makes things better. People like to see a smile, he'd learned that when he was a kid. Smiling puts people at ease and hides the things you want to keep hidden. "Still kinda drunk. That looks good. Don't understand a word of it but good. I'll leave you to it then."

 

The smile does put Bruce at ease, and he traces his thumb over the back of one of Clint’s hands. “Dinner tonight, okay? I have something for you.”

 

"Mhmm." Clint replies and he turns to leave him to his work, pausing at the door to look back at Bruce who is already getting back to his calculations. "Um, Thor's back. He found a ritual that should help with...everything." he says, not sure who's listening (Jarvis) and not wanting anyone else to know about the markings.

 

Bruce immediately perks up again. “When should we do it?” he asks. “As quickly as possible – do you want me to come with you to do it now? I can put work on hold, you’re more important.”

 

"No, no we can do it later." Clint replies, his throat tight. He wants to believe Bruce but his work has come first a few too many times for his words to hold any meaning. "Or if you're too busy I can do it alone. I don't mind."

 

“ _Oh_ no, you’re not doing it alone. I’m going to be there. If I find out you went off and did it alone I won’t be happy with you,” Bruce says, tone serious. “I have to be there. I have to witness it.”

 

"It's not going to be pretty. Thor said it's going to hurt like hell." Clint warns. "I appreciate the gesture but I don't want to freak you out."

 

Bruce just stares at him for a minute. “You _can’t_ be serious.”

 

"About which part?" the archer asks, confused. "'Cause I was, actually. I mean i know you've seen me hurt before but this isn't injury-pain I think. It's not something you can fix."

 

“I’m pretty sure I can handle it,” Bruce offers a gentle smile. “I’m not letting you do it alone.”

 

Clint smiles back and nods. "Then we'll do it before dinner so I don't throw up. Very romantic. See you then." And before Bruce can say anything he darts out of the lab and up the stairs, planning on going to his room and trying to sleep away the lingering disappointment.


	10. Chapter 10

Tony returns to the lab just moments later with a frown. “Okay, he still looks brooding and you look pensive. Why is everything still a mess? I’m actually starting to have a hard time with Pepper because all I can think of is you and birdbrain’s colossally fucked-up relationship.”

 

“Nothing’s a mess, why do you think things are still a mess?” Bruce nearly drops his tablet. Clint didn’t look brooding the last he saw of him.

 

“Because that was Clint’s _‘Things are a mess’_ face. Believe me, I’ve seen a lot of it lately.” Tony crosses his arms. Bruce just stares, then his eyes flick to the staircase where Clint had retreated.

 

"So which one of you screwed things up this time? Because when I left it seemed like it was going great. He was deaf, you were concerned, there were better things to talk about, I thought you had some real momentum going." Tony continues. He goes over to Bruce's computer and looks down at the screen. "You didn't science at him while he was talking about his feelings did you? Because Pepper told me that makes things worse."

 

Bruce backpedals over their conversation. “No, we started talking about him taking college courses when I told him about the breakthrough we made. Is that… is that what’s wrong? Are you _sure_ something’s wrong because he was smiling when he left.”

 

"His college courses?" Tony rolls his eyes. He can already tell that he's going to have to go up to Clint's room and clean this up. Again. "Bruce I like you. You and I have a special science bro bond. So as your science bro I need to tell you that you are an idiot. Did you really listen to everything he said?"

 

“He said a lot, all at once,” Bruce says, wringing his hands together. “I really tried to hear him but he didn’t repeat himself. I told him that he’s the one for me, not Clara, so I think that’s the most important bit since that’s what he was afraid of.”

 

"You sir, are the world's second biggest idiot." Tony says fondly as he heads for the door to go find Clint. Hopefully the archer will be in his apartment, unarmed, this time. Bruce sits down on the nearest chair and starts to wrack his brain. He must have missed something important.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Tony is flipping a small chip between his fingers, whistling to himself as he strolls to Clint’s apartment, other hand in his pocket as he goes. He knocks coolly on the door with the back of his knuckles.

 

He sees the peephole darken, sees the shadows of feet beneath the door, but the door does not open and his presence is not recognized aloud. Tony rolls his eyes.

 

“I have something for you. And it’s not a grope, I swear. I told you, I’m not actually interested in you,” he says.

 

"You don't mind if I keep my gun in my hand anyway right?" Clint replies before opening the door just enough that he can look out at Tony. "What do you want? Don't you and Bruce have some project to work on? Or you could go annoy your girlfriend for once instead of us."

 

“Saving your relationship for a second time in one day,” Tony answers, holding up the chip. “Plug it into that laptop I gave you, open up the first sound byte and hit play. Don’t ask any questions, just do it.”

 

When Clint takes the chip passed to him he immediately begins to walk away, muttering about how he should be given a medal.

 

Clint slams the door and goes to his computer, following Tony's orders and plugging in the chip. He opens the first audio file he can find and soon realizes that it must have been saved without someone's knowledge because the voices are too far away to have been recorded intentionally. But the quality of the recording is impeccable and he doesn't miss a word.  
  
The first voice he hears is Tony's and he's already confused as to what is going on. Part of the conversation has been cut out and as it goes he realizes unimportant parts must have been edited out as well.

_This is about love isn't it? You don't just want to get into his pants. You want the whole thing. Dinner and snuggling and Christmas with the family. Hey I get that. Despite popular belief I can fall in love. I'll help you out, don't worry. We just need Jarvis to do his job and keep an eye out for me. Did you ever tell him?_

 

The next voice is clearly Bruce and it's starting to become obvious that they're talking about him. It makes Clint want to stop listening but he desperately wants to hear Bruce's answer.

 

_I told him I cared about him, I told him he was important to me. I never… I never said I loved him. But he didn’t ever say it either, so..._

 

He can't fault Bruce for that. He'd been a coward before and hadn't had the guts to say he loved him. But now he has and it hasn't made any difference.

 

_Then we corner him. After he gets off the range. He never lets anyone near him then, not even her. He just goes to his room. You just have to catch him in the hall before he gets there._

 

"Her" must be Natasha. There's part of the conversation missing there but it can't be all that important. What is important is what Bruce said next because that's exactly what he had done. He'd come and cornered Clint on the range which at the time Clint had thought had been an act of desperation not a planned battle strategy.

 

_No, I’m not going to corner him, I’m not some kind of predator. He… he doesn’t want a relationship with me. And that’s… fine. That’s okay. I’m not going to force myself on him. You might be comfortable with something like that, but I’m just not, okay?_

 

But that's exactly what he had done! This time Clint considers turning the audio off out of sheer annoyance at the hypocrisy but there's only a little left and he knows if he stops it now he'll just keep thinking about it for the rest of the day until he breaks and listens to it anyway. And it had worked out in the end so he can't be too angry.

 

_Don't be stupid. We all know you're not. He wants you. He almost kissed you once already. And I saw the way he was looking at you. He was desperate. A little more alone time and he'll be all over you, I promise._

 

That hurts. Bruce had gone after him because Tony had convinced him that it wouldn't take long for Clint to break and throw himself at Bruce. Which he had, which only makes it worse. He'd proven them both right and managed to mess it up.

 

There's a minute left. Clint doesn't want to hear it but he can't turn it off either. He doesn't want to hear Bruce agreeing with Tony or laughing at what a slut he can be but he knows he has to if only to spare himself the heartache of hearing it later.

 

_No, Tony, stop it._

 

There's a loud bang like someone had dropped something or punched something hard. Bruce is furious and Clint's heart is racing.

 

_I don’t want him all over me! I don’t want to start in running to the bedroom! I can’t do that like you can, Tony! In fact, I’d be perfectly content never having sex again if it just meant I could wake up next to him and watch him cook like he likes and rub his shoulders after he shoots and watch rainstorms with him and hold his hand, I would give up sex for good if I could have that! I don’t want your brand of help. Stay out of it._

 

Clint sits there after the tape ends, the silence echoing his own astonishment. Bruce didn't want him just for sex. He'd never wanted that. It's so completely not what Clint was expecting to hear that he can't even process it at first. Bruce would be willing to give that up completely for him. He's willing to give up their entire physical relationship just to _be_ with Clint. No one has ever shown him that kind of devotion before and it brings tears to Clint's eyes.

 

Before he knows it he's on his feet and out the door. His legs carry him down to the lab where he finds Bruce standing at the computer, his back to the door. He's not working with anything delicate so Clint doesn't hesitate to come up behind him and wrap his arms around the scientist's waist, whispering "hey" so Bruce won't freak out before kissing the back of his neck.

 

He turns his head and presses his cheek to Bruce's back, soaking up his presence like a sponge. He can't believe he ever doubted this man. This beautiful, oblivious, wonderful man who cares for him so deeply even if he can't say it yet. That doesn't even matter anymore, now that Clint knows just how much Bruce really wants him and he's ashamed to think he nearly lost that so many times.

 

“Back so soon?” Bruce smiles. He hadn’t really thought it had anything to do with Tony, as he’d disappeared only to come back less than a minute later – not enough time to properly meddle by Stark standards. He closes his hands around Clint’s, which are clasped right beneath his belly button. He doesn’t know what Tony was talking about, because Clint never gets huggy when things are wrong, he gives Bruce space. He always has.

 

"I've been an idiot and I'm sorry." Clint says quietly. "After tonight when Thor removes the symbols can we just start over and try to do this right? Because I want to try not being an idiot and trusting you again and being happy. Would you be okay with that?"

 

Bruce suddenly turns in the small space afforded by Clint’s arms in order to face him, and takes him by the face and kisses him.

 

“You’re not an idiot,” he argues, kissing away the wrinkles in Clint’s forehead by his furrowed brows. “But I’ll be happy with whatever you’ll give me.”

 

"I am an idiot and don't correct me because you don't know." Clint replies but he smiles and kisses Bruce softly on the lips. "And I want to start over. Not totally from scratch but without all the fights and the mistrust and drinking and running away. I want us to be together and happy. So when Thor finishes the ritual we start over, okay? And we'll do this right."

 

Bruce doesn’t know what brought about this change, and when he looks over to search Tony’s face for a smug little ‘I did good’ smirk, his face is completely stony as he looks down at the experiment he’s going over with Clara hanging over his shoulder.

 

So he looks back at Clint with a smile. He must have just come to an epiphany on his own.

 

“We’ll start over then,” he agrees.

 

“You too are _so cute_ ,” Clara says suddenly with a big grin.

 

“Isn’t it just vile?” Tony matches her grin.

 

"Shut up, we're adorable." Clint laughs, making a mental note to thank Tony the next time they have a moment alone. They wouldn't have this chance without his meddling.  
  
"Can I see that diagram thing again?" he asks Bruce. "Of what you'll look like when all of this is done? I wasn't really looking before."

 

Bruce doesn’t hesitate to bring up the 3D diagram again, projecting it over the table between them so he can swivel the little figure and extend its arms outwards. “Basically it will be _even harder_ to find clothes that fit. It’s already difficult because I’m tall and thin, but after all this I’ll be tall and… well, huge. I don’t know how I’m going to function once I’m that big, I’ll have to ask Steve how he adjusted.”

 

Clint looks over the diagram and Bruce is right. He's going to be huge. Like possibly bigger than Steve, huge. Not as big as Thor but somewhere between the two. The arms look enormous and his legs will be thick with muscle. He'll be more than capable of completely destroying someone like Clint. It's a little frightening for the archer, knowing Bruce will have that much power he could use against him.

 

“I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it, I guess,” Bruce says with a nervous chuckle. “I’m not looking forward to that aspect of this, but it’ll be worth it in the end.”

 

"I'm going to have to start thinking of a safeword," Clint laughs to hide his nervousness at the whole idea of Bruce getting so strong and having that ability to overpower him.

 

Clint stays for a while longer, chats with Clara, gives Tony a few grateful glances, then declares he’s going shopping for a few things for dinner with Bruce that night. He tells Thor to be in his apartment with everything for the ritual at 6 PM, and the thunderer says he will be on time.

 

His nervousness mounts as he gets the ingredients for dinner, and returns home. The minutes tick away – sometimes too slow, sometimes much too fast and all at once – and then it’s six.

 

Bruce and Thor show up almost at the same time, Thor’s arms filled with all sorts of things that Bruce doesn’t recognize. They’re let in and Thor asks where they can perform this that they will have space for Clint to lay on the ground.

 

Clint says they can move the couch and coffee table to give them room. With Thor's help there's soon, maybe too soon, an open space in the center of the living room more than large enough for Clint to lie down. He looks at Bruce nervously, hoping his lover will be able to calm him. He's faced pain before but at least then he had some idea of what was going to happen. Now he's completely in the dark and it frightens him.

 

Bruce takes Clint’s hands, soothingly rubbing his thumbs over the younger man’s knuckles.

 

“So what exactly will this entail?” Bruce asks as Thor begins to set things down on the floor. He spreads out a white sheet that makes Clint nervous.

 

“Clint will have to lie flat on this sheet, and I will need a decent light source,” Thor looks around while Clint brings him a lamp that he can adjust the height. He holds up a black metal rod with all sorts of markings inscribed into it, about a foot long. “I will require a skin graft from another part of Clint’s body of his choosing, and it will be wrapped around this stake. Then I will light a fire in a bowl, with a few ingredients that I will then heat the rod with and roll it over the marked place to replace the skin. I will then seal the wound with the blood of the one who placed the markings there – getting Loki’s blood was especially tricky.” He holds up a tiny stone vial and gives it a little shake to reveal there is liquid inside. “And then it needs only a few moments to heal.”

 

Clint tries not to wince. "So you jsut have to skin and burn me a bit. No big deal. Great." he says shakily, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Part of him is saying run, to get the fuck out of there, that only a crazy person volunteers for this kind of thing. Another part argues that it'll be worth it, that with the marks gone he can go back to how things were before Loki ever claimed him.   
  
He looks to Bruce again, needing confirmation that this is the right thing to do before he chickens out and bolts.

 

Bruce just holds his hands a little tighter and leans in to kiss the archer’s forehead.

 

“The sooner we begin, the sooner we will finish,” Thor says. “I have brought an herbal remedy to lessen the pain, and a charm that will immobilize you if you think you cannot hold still through the process. If you jerk away I will simply need to restart.”

 

"Immobilized will be best. I'll fight you on instinct." Clint replies. He sighs and gives Bruce's hand a squeeze before letting it go. "Alright let's get this over with. You should probably take the skin from my back, it'll be easiest."

 

“You will have to lie on your back for me to complete the process on your stomach,” Thor says with a frown. “I do not have any remedies to heal your back, you must heal  that on your own.”

 

"I can handle it. And it'll be easier to shoot with back pain than arm or leg pain." Clint shrugs and pulls off his shirt. He tosses it aside and sits down on the ground. "Can you give me the immobilization thing first though? I don't want to twitch and have you accidentally stab me or something."

 

The charm is slipped around Clint’s neck and he sags against the floor. It’s unnerving, being totally incapable of movement, and he suddenly has a new respect for paralysis victims.

 

He feels Bruce take his hand, though, and that’s nice. Thor starts a candle going so he can heat a blade, on the side facing away from Clint’s face so he doesn’t have to watch the knife heat up.

 

“It’s going to be alright Clint,” Bruce talks gently to distract him and soothe his panicked lover. “It’ll be over in less than an hour, and the markings will be gone. I can hold you and kiss your stomach and you don’t have to be afraid of anything. You don’t have to be afraid anymore, Clint, you’ll be absolved of Loki’s sins, you’ll be mine again, you’ll be only mine.”

 

Clint's eyes flick to Bruce and he's happy to find he can smile. The charm hasn't completely immobilized him, allowing him to control his facial movements though he can not move his neck to turn and look at Bruce.  
  
"I know." He says, relieved that he can speak. "That's all I want. I want that more than anything in the world and I can survive anything for that chance. It'll all be worth it in the end right?"

 

“It will be worth it,” Bruce assures him, even as he’s staring nervously at the blade Thor is holding as it turns from orange to yellow to white. “It’ll all be worth it,” he looks back down at Clint with a sad smile as Thor takes the blade from the fire.

 

He thinks it best not to warn Clint. He can see a split second of fear in his eyes as the heat of the blade draws nearer to the fleshiest expanse of his back on the left side, between his shoulder blade and hip bone. The blade is so hot it feels cold when it first makes contact with Clint’s body, and then there’s the smell of burning skin that makes Bruce nauseous, but he keeps holding Clint’s hand in both of his own and whispers to him through the pain.

 

The first thing Clint thinks is that the knife is frozen and he remembers Loki and icy daggers. But then he realizes it isn't cold, it's burning. It's burning him as it cuts him and the pain hits him like a truck. His vision starts to go black and he instinctively tries to roll away but he can't move. He can feel but he can't move. He's completely helpless under Thor's knife.  
  
And suddenly he isn't Hawkeye anymore. He hasn't been this helpless since he was eleven years old. No, younger than that. At eleven he could run at hide. No this is four year old Clint. Four year old Clint who doesn't know any better and still trusts and has no defense and god it hurts so much he doesn't realize he's screaming, begging Thor to stop. He might be apologizing too, for what he doesn't know. He doesn't remember, he never remembers, but he did something wrong or else it wouldn't hurt like this.  
  
But someone is holding his hand too. Not holding him down but comforting him and he can hear a soft voice whispering to him and it pulls him up through the bad memories for a second and he resurfaces as Clint Barton the Avenger, the agent, and he tries to look towards where the voice and the hand is, whispering desperately for Bruce to come closer and hold him tighter.

 

Bruce lies down on the sheet beside Clint as the thin layer of flesh is severed from his body so he can look Clint in the eye. Tears are trickling down his face unbidden, and he doesn’t even seem to see Bruce’s face at first. Bruce runs his hand up and down Clint’s arm after he’s sure it won’t get in the way of Thor’s work and continues to whisper to him, to tell him it’ll be alright and he’s so strong and everything will be worth it in the end because they’ll be together with nothing horrible to come between them.

 

Bruce is crying too. He can’t stand to hear Clint like this, begging for reprieve, apologizing to a father that isn’t even there, so out of his mind with pain that Bruce almost wants to ask him to stop. But they’re already almost halfway there, they can’t stop now. So he smiles through the pain in his own chest, the pain of sorrow, and just keeps repeating how much he admires Clint, and how brave he is. He thinks he might have told Clint he loves him at some point in there – said it out loud for the first time when Clint couldn’t even comprehend what he was saying – but he isn’t even sure of what’s leaving his mouth at this point.

 

"Don't let him hurt me, please, please, don't let him hurt me," Clint sobs, now too accustomed to the pain to scream. He wants to curl up into a ball and hide, to get away but he can't. There's nothing he can do and it hurts. It hurts so much and he doesn't understand. He barely recognizes the hand on his arm and if he could he would flinch away from it, sure at any second that it will turn on him too. But it's kind now, a savior maybe but it's not helping. No one is helping, while a part of him is being cut away for a reason he can't remember.

 

“It is finished,” Thor suddenly announces and Bruce feels like he can breathe again. There’s a white linen cloth smeared with some kind of numbing salve already being pressed to the burn – the blade was so hot it cauterized the wound as it left it behind, which made for very little blood, but even more excruciating pain. Bruce quickly taped the cloth into place so it would start to work on his back.

 

“You did good, you did so good,” he soothed the sobbing archer, rubbing the back of his neck and his arm to try and comfort him.

 

Thor is already wrapping the layer of flesh around the metal rod and dumping several contents into a bowl. There’s some kind of blue crystal sand that appears to glow faintly, a few leaves that seem to be made of solid gold, some kind of beetle shells and a couple other things Bruce doesn’t even try to classify. And already, he’s setting these contents on fire.

 

“We’re not even going to give him a rest?” Bruce asks breathlessly. He needs a break from the screaming and Clint’s pain as badly as Clint does.

 

“Give him time to come back to his senses so he can lose them all over again? That is not merciful,” Thor shakes his head as he places the end of the rod with Clint’s skin on it in the bowl. The layer of skin begins to glow blue as well as it is heated. “Roll him over while I prepare this.”

 

Bruce keeps whispering to Clint as he rolls over his body with some difficulty – two hundred pounds of dead weight is hard to manipulate, it turns out. He knows lying on the burn must cause him great pain, but he just keeps talking him through it as he unbuckles his belt, unfastens his jeans and begins to work them down to Clint’s knees. He figures modesty is not even a bother right now, and if the pants are well out of the way it will make it all the easier to reach the markings.

 

“It’s going to be okay, Clint,” Bruce assures the archer, drawing his hand into his lap so he can pet it soothingly.   

 

"I'm sorry." Clint whispers. His skin is crawling and he feels like he's shaking but he knows he's not. His back hurts and he wants to get up now that he isn't being hurt anymore but his body still isn't listening to him. He still can't move and the soft voice and soft hands aren't helping him.   
  
He looks up and he sees a familiar face but not one he recognizes right away. The fog brought on by the pain begins to recede and he knows this person. This person took his hand and told him it would all be worth it in the end.  
  
"Bruce?" he asks hesitantly. "Is it over?"

 

“Not yet,” Bruce says though it breaks his heart. “We’re half over. You’re doing just fine, we’re so close to being done. Just a few minutes more, and it’ll be over.”

 

"W-what did I do?" he asks nervously because he can't really remember why they're doing this.   
  
He remembers Loki and he thinks he's close to remembering why they need to do this when Thor comes away from the flames with the white hot rod wrapped in flesh. Before Clint can completely grasp just what he did that requires this punishment, the rod and skin are pressed to his sensitive and scarred groin and he starts to scream again.

 

Bruce strokes Clint’s forehead and arm feebly in a futile attempt to placate him, with absolutely no results. Bruce doubts his touch is even being registered as the flesh is rolled off of the rod and onto Clint’s body over the markings, the carvings in the rod leaving little blue glowing patches of light in the same patterns that Bruce assumes (hopes) will fade. Thor’s expression is serious and focused as he slowly rolls the skin onto Clint’s lower belly.

 

Bruce knows his whisperings are more for his benefit than Clint’s at this point, but he keeps it up anyway to keep from breaking down and begging Thor to stop this torture on his beloved.

 

Clint's throat hurts too much for him to scream and the heat is making him desperate for water but he doesn't want to ask for it and be denied. It hurts so much he wishes he would just black out so he won't feel it anymore but that doesn't seem like an option. His mind won't block out the pain even if he isn't registering anything else. He keeps mouthing his apologies through the pain, silently begging for it to be over soon.

 

And then Thor pulls the rod away and opens the vial of Loki’s blood, allowing it to drip around the edges where the layer of skin had been burned into Clint’s abdomen. The glowing markings begin to glow brighter and the blood soaks into the edges and it’s just a few more seconds before the glowing fades away and the seams of the added flesh melt into the rest of Clint’s skin, and Loki’s mark is gone completely.

 

“The pain should have receded from this area,” Thor says, tapping his first two fingers to the new skin, and garnering no reaction from the dazed archer. “There is little I can do about the burn on his back, as I have said. That will have to heal naturally. But Midgardian medicine is very advanced, I have found. I have no doubt you will be able to keep it infection free.”

 

“Thank you so much for doing this, Thor,” Bruce says, still holding Clint’s hand too tightly, unwilling to pull away even long enough to wipe away the tears streaking his own face.

 

“I would recommend not removing the charm until he is back into his mind,” Thor says as he begins to collect the objects he brought with him. “You can return it to me the next time you are able. I must go now, and you should tend to him. I have to return home to mollify Loki’s rage at the markings being taken from what he believes belongs to him.”

 

Bruce nods, and then with a swish of blonde hair, Thor is gone and Bruce is sitting in the low lamplight in total shock, his motor movements stroking the back of Clint’s hand on autopilot.

 

Clint is quiet for a time. The pain on his stomach is gone which is a blessing and after a few minutes it seems like there won't be another assault and he starts to come back to himself. Someone is holding him. No, not someone. Bruce. He knows that. Bruce is holding him because Bruce promised to stay with him. The sheer relief is almost enough to make Clint start crying again.  
  
But he doesn't. Instead he hesitantly chokes out, "Can I have some water?"

 

Bruce doesn’t want to release Clint’s hands, but he does anyway. He kisses his forehead before pacing into the kitchen and returning with a glass of water and a bendy straw so he doesn’t have to take off the charm just yet. He tips the edge of the straw to Clint’s lips and as soon as he feels the wetness he begins to suck the cool liquid. Bruce strokes his short hair and caresses his cheek.

 

“It’s done,” he says softly. “It’s over. You did it.”

 

"Yeah, yeah." Clint replies when he's drunk enough that his throat doesn't feel like it's on fire. "Is it gone? Are the marks gone?"

 

“Yeah, the marks are all gone,” Bruce says, rubbing his thumb over the area to make sure it isn’t some flimsy, temporary fix. “Even the scars are gone. Do you want me to remove the charm so you can see for yourself?”

 

Clint tries to nod but his head doesn't move. Stupid he knew it wouldn't. So he answers an eager yes, more than ready to be able to move again and have control over is body once more. Bruce reaches behind his head to unclasp the chain and lift it from his body. Feeling rushes into every limb of Clint’s body all at once, and he’s never been so aware of his own body weight before. Gravity finally has some pull on him again, and his body feels lethargic as Bruce carefully helps him sit up.

 

“Your back is still burned, that’ll heal normally,” Bruce says, checking to make sure the tape is holding. “I’ll change out your bandages every night, alright? Do you wanna just stay sitting here for a while, or...?”

 

"Couch. On my stomach on the couch." Clint replies, trying to clamber to his feet. The pain in his back flares and his knees give out. He falls and grits his teeth, trying again and only making it to his knees.

 

Bruce lifts him as well as he can and gently sets him down on the couch. He sits on the floor so he’s level with Clint’s face, drawing his knees to his chest as he pets the younger man’s arm and face.

 

“What can I do for you?” he asks softly, pressing his forehead to Clint’s. “Tell me what I can do for you.”

 

"Got any morphine on you? Or something stronger like a mallet to the skull?" Clint groans. Pain puts him in a bad mood and he's pretty sure he embarrassed himself with all the screaming he did over a few little burns. "You can start by telling me just how pathetic Thor is going to think I am after that little scene."

 

“Not at all, he didn’t say anything like that,” Bruce shakes his head, tossing sweat-drenched curls on his brow, sweat from his own stress and fear at watching Clint in such pain. He’d never felt the Other Guy pound so hard at the walls of his mind than when he was trying to escape to protect his cupid.

 

"And you? You don't think I'm a big wimp now? Because I'm not and I can still kick your ass." Clint says with a shaky smile. "I mean not right now. Tomorrow. But I didn't say anything too stupid did I?"

 

“No, you’re fine,” Bruce says. He’d rather not repeat any of the things he heard. “I don’t think you’re a wimp. I’m pretty sure I would have started to foam at the mouth and pass out within 4.5 seconds.”

 

"The Hulk would have taken care of it. And Thor is his favorite playmate. Of course, Thor likes him too because he can hit him again and again and not have to worry about breaking him." Clint laughs. "That probably goes both ways actually. Alright as long as my dignity is intact why don't you make up a story to pass the time? I'm going to need at least twenty minutes before we head into the bedroom to celebrate."

 

“We are _not_ heading right into the bedroom, mister,” Bruce says, poking Clint’s side a few inches away from the burn just to demonstrate the rawness of that whole area of his body. “You are going to wait for that to heal. Doctor’s orders.”

 

“Bruce!” Clint starts to whine.

 

“Doctor’s orders,” Bruce repeats. “Do you want a story or not?”

 

Clint whines, but says nothing.

 

Bruce chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. “Once upon a time there was a brave hunter who lived in a little village. His name was… Carl. Carl was the bravest hunter in the country, and the best marksman with his arrows.”

 

“I like him,” Clint chuckles, closing his eyes to visualize the story as Bruce goes. He knows it sounds like the story is being told to a child, but he finds that comforting.

 

“One day, the townspeople started to get frightened, because they heard that there was a werewolf prowling the woods around their houses. This werewolf’s name was… Boris. But nobody cared about his name, because they thought he was a monster all the time and monsters don’t get names.” He swallows. This story was supposed to be a lighthearted parallel but he knows it’s going to bring up emotions. He clears his throat and continues.

 

“Carl didn’t think he should have to kill the werewolf because most of the time he was just a man, so he went into the woods to find him and they became friends. He didn’t care that Boris was a werewolf sometimes, and since he was so nice to Boris, the wolf in him didn’t hurt him either. And he stopped the wolf from hurting other people, too.”

 

"Yeah well Carl is just badass like that isn't he?" Clint asks, grinning. "Was he sexy too? I bet he was sexy. I bet Boris was sexy too. Two sexy badasses living in the woods."

 

“Shut up. I’m telling the story,” Bruce scolds with a smile. “The townspeople find out that Carl didn’t kill Boris, and they’re very angry. They thought he wasn’t as good a hunter as he used to be, so they ran him out of town. Boris went with him because he didn’t want to be alone.”

 

“Where did they go?” Clint asks, and Bruce doesn’t need to know that he’s picturing these two characters exactly like the two of them. It’s pretty obvious he’s supposed to, anyway.

 

“The mountains,” Bruce says, stroking Clint’s hair gently. “They found a little cabin in the mountains and they lived there. It was hard work, living in the mountains, but they made their way. And it wasn’t so bad, because… because they loved each other.”

 

"That's nice. I like that." Clint says, not grinning now. He's still smiling but it's smaller, the kind of smile people reserve for those things that are bittersweet. It's real, not his usual sarcastic smirk, and it's fond and warm.

 

There’s no sound except Bruce’s hand smoothing quietly over Clint’s hair for a long time, so Clint breaks the silence again.

 

“And then what?”

 

“And then they fucked and got married, the end,” Bruce smiles.

 

"Your endings suck." Clint laughs, covering Bruce's face with his hand and lightly pushing him away. "Better ending. One day Boris and Carl got into a fight so Carl went out onto the mountain to clear his head. But he got lost and couldn't find his way back without Boris.  
  
"He didn't mean to be away for so long but he couldn't find his way home. Then one day he found Boris again but Boris was upset that Carl hadn't come back and Carl was sad that Boris hadn't gotten lost looking for him. But they were so happy to be together again that soon that didn't matter anymore. And they realized they still loved each other.  
  
"And _that's_ when they fucked and got married, the end."

 

Bruce nearly has tears in his eyes as he presses his forehead to the side of Clint’s face, a grin so wide on his face it hurts.

 

“That’s much better, you’re right,” he whispers. “I like that story.”

 

"We should publish," Clint whispers. They're quiet for a while, just enjoying being there together, and then Clint laughs, shattering the warm moment they had been sharing. "Alright that's enough. We can be sappy later. You came here for dinner and I'm sure I'll be hungry soon. I made a slightly modified shepherd's pie, you'll find the casserole dish in the microwave. Go help yourself, it should still be warm." Clint tells him.

 

“Slightly modified? There’s no actual shepherd in it is there?” Bruce laughs as he takes himself to the kitchen.

 

The pie is actually delicious. He sits on the floor beside Clint again and they put on some horrible TV show to laugh at. Bruce feeds Clint a few bites from his own bowl every now and then before he finally declares he wants some of his own, and Bruce orders him to stay lying down and he’ll get it himself.

 

Clint falls asleep on the couch like that. Bruce covers him with a blanket all the way up to his burn but no higher, and sits to watch him sleep.

 

It isn’t until the next morning when he’s being shaken awake that he realized he’d fallen asleep curled up against the front of the couch.

 

“Oh, wow,” he groans, stretching his back out. “I guess I fell asleep. How’s your burn feeling? I should change the bandages.”

 

"Feels like a decent chunk of my skin was peeled off and then the raw tissue was set on fire." Clint replies a little bitterly. He'd woken up when he turned over and hit his burn and it hurts like hell. "Bandages would be smart but I need a shower. Unless I can negotiate a sponge bath?"

 

“Sure,” Bruce smiles, helping Clint to a stand. He takes him to the bathroom and sits him down on the edge of the tub after stripping him down naked. It’s been such a long time since he’s seen Clint naked, and it feels wonderful to know that Clint trusts him enough for this now. He’s bursting with joy as he fills the tub with a few inches of warm water so Clint can wiggle his toes in it, and he takes a warm sponge and saturates it. With a towel placed at the edge of the tub to soak up the water that runs out, and Bruce’s sleeves and pant legs rolled up, he sets to work.

 

He’s especially gentle around the burn as he goes, peeling off the bandages to inspect it. There are a few blisters that appear to be filled with pus, but they’re the right color – healing, not infected. So he leaves them be as he gently rubs the sponge around the perimeter. He scrubs Clint’s arms and legs and chest, and they chat the whole time while Bruce keeps refilling the tub to wash away the soap. Then he’s drying Clint off, patting him down with a towel and redresses the burn on his back.

 

“All done,” he says, nuzzling Clint’s shoulder with the tip of his nose for just a moment.

 

"That was nice." Clint says with a smile, turning around to give Bruce a kiss. "Much better than the sponge baths the SHIELD nurses give. Though I wouldn't have said no to a bit more groping if you'd felt like it."

 

“Not until you’re healed,” Bruce scolds. “Patience.” He kisses the side of Clint’s head as he helps him to pull a shirt down over his head.

 

"You're not going to report me to medical over this are you?" Clint asks as they both work to redress him. He could do it himself but he likes Bruce's help. "I don't want to be taken off missions."

 

“You’re not going on missions while you have a giant burn on your back!” Bruce says forcefully. “You better believe I’ll be reporting this to medical. I’ll tell them it was a cooking accident or something.” 

 

"Bruce you can't!" Clint says, grabbing his arm like Bruce is going to go right now and alert medical. "I can't be taken off missions for something like this. If I'm taken off field work for too long it'll look bad in my file. I need to save that for real injuries. I can work through this."

 

“I don’t really care what your file looks like,” Bruce says, picking Clint’s hand off his arm and collecting the other one so he can hold them both. “Right now you’ve got impaired mobility and that could put you in danger out in the field. Which means you could get injured, or worse, and not come back to me. And I _just_ got you back.”

 

"I've fought through worse than this Bruce." Clint assures him. "And I come back every time. And now I'll really have a reason to. You can't give them a reason to doubt me. Please."

 

Bruce still looks skeptical, and he casts his eyes downward. “You can’t blame me for being scared,” he whispers.  “I’ve already mourned your death once. I really don’t want to do it again.”

 

Clint smiles and takes a step closer so he can rest his head on Bruce's shoulder. "You won't. I promise. A little burn like this won't slow me down, I won't let it. And I might not even be called into the field before it's healed now that I'm an Avenger. You're not going to lose me again."

 

Bruce throws his arms around Clint’s shoulders and holds him close, pressing up against him to feel his heat and his solidness. Clint’s arms tightening around his waist almost squeeze tears out of Bruce.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is sex in this chapter. You are warned!

Clint manages to avoid medical while he heals. He's cleared for missions, small things where he mostly acts as surveillance. He gets sent out twice while he's healing and is never anywhere near danger. Medical has no reason to look him over and he comes home to Bruce every time. Usually he tries to convince Bruce to take him to bed but the older man refuses. He removes Clint's bandages and after one look declares him unfit for strenuous activity which apparently includes sex. Which is really annoying.  
  
It's a few weeks before the bandages come off but Bruce still sees him wince every now and then and continues to refuse. Even when most of the pain has faded he says he doesn't want to risk it until he knows Clint will be okay. 

 

  
Then Clint and Natasha are sent away for a week and a half. They're tracking a weapons dealer and things go south. Natasha ends up with a cracked rib but Barton manages to come away with only a scratch to his cheek thanks to quick thinking and a nearby trash can. They're both looked over by medical who holler at Clint about his new scar but declare him otherwise fit for action.  
  
To him that's a clean bill of health.  
  
He comes home that night, showers and puts on his only button up shirt. It's dark purple and Bruce absolutely loves it. There's no way the scientist can refuse him when he's dressed like this and has been cleared by SHIELD. Cleaned up and properly preened he sets out for the lab to collect his lover.

 

Bruce is bent over a table when Clint arrives, his back a perfect parallel to the floor beneath the table and legs spread so the material of his grey tweed slacks hugs his backside without so much as a wrinkle. He doesn’t seem to notice Clint’s entrance, or the fact that Tony and Clara nod towards him from the other side of the table. He just keeps chatting on about whatever science he’s currently bent over while his lover approaches him from behind.

 

"Not that I don't appreciate the view doc, but that can't be good for your back." Clint laughs finally, coming up behind Bruce so there's barely an inch between his groin and his lover's ass. He rests his large hands on lightly on Bruce's hips, enjoying the way he jumps a little in surprise.

 

Bruce shoots upright, nearly knocking over Clint in his haste, and Clara and Tony share a giggle.

 

“Don’t do that,” Bruce hisses, his ears turning pink with embarrassment. “Is it – it’s not dinner time, it’s only three. Why are you here? I mean – wow that didn’t come out right. Hey, what a nice surprise what brings you down here?”

 

"I've been over a week and a half, can't I be a little eager to see you?" Clint pouts, feigning distress. He crosses his arms and scowls up at the taller man. "Can't I at least get a kiss or would you prefer I leave?"

 

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Bruce says, turning around to pay attention to his affronted lover. He draws him into a chaste kiss, the kind a doting wife gives her husband on his way to work before turning back down to his science. “I’m glad to see you too, I just thought you weren’t due home until tomorrow?”

 

 "Got in early." Clint sighs. He rolls his eyes, looking over at Clara who gives him a sympathetic look. "But I see you're busy here so I suppose I'll just go feel neglected with Pepper until dinner."

 

“No wait,” Bruce turns and hooks his fingers into a belt loop of Clint’s jeans to halt his retreat. “ _Did_ you want something? Or did you just want to come say hello?”

 

"I thought maybe we could go upstairs and celebrate the fact that I got back with a _clean bill of health._ " the archer replies with a smirk.

 

Bruce nearly chokes on his inhale. Clean bill of health. That means he was in medical, and SHIELD declared him completely fit. That means he’s healed. That means he wants in bed, and Bruce has no more reason to say no to him. Suddenly his loins are on fire and his ears are even pinker now.

 

He instinctively looks over his shoulder for approval, and Tony laughs at his desperate puppy expression.

 

“Please, man, _go_ ,” Tony says. “I will personally lock you out of this lab if you don’t go upstairs right now and make sweet love to him.”

 

Bruce grabs Clint by the hand and fiercely drags him out of the lab. The wink of gratification sent his way by Clint is not lost on Tony.

 

They barely make it past the glass into the hallway before Bruce has Clint up against a wall and a deep kiss pressed into his mouth.

 

"God Bruce," Clint moans against his lips. He tangles his fingers in Bruce's unruly curls, holding him close while they ravage each others' mouths. He's already half hard just from thinking about what's coming and he presses his groin against Bruce's thigh to make sure he knows. It's been so long since he's been with someone he really wants and now he's here with Bruce. He couldn't possibly ask for more.

 

“We’re not even going to make it to your floor at this pace,” Bruce’s moan echoes Clint’s as he ruts against him strong and hard. He wishes he could dig his fingers as deep into Clint’s hair as Clint can do to him, but that’s the problem with short hair. “Someone’s going to find us like this if we just – oh god,” he drops his head when Clint rubs his thigh between Bruce’s legs.

 

"Okay, we need to stop." Clint says breaking away. He sees the flash of worry that crosses Bruce's face and laughs, giving him a kiss to soothe him. "Not like that. I mean we need to slow down and get upstairs to a bedroom. I don't want this to just be a quick fuck Bruce." Clint admits, blushing furiously. "I haven't had you for seven years. I want this to be something more than just a good screw. Does that make sense?"

 

“God, yes,” Bruce whispers, kissing Clint’s jaw, his cheekbones. “Let’s go. Let’s make this last.”

 

They half-lean on each other all the way up to Clint’s floor, sharing little kisses and laughs until finally they fall through the doorway and go right back into a deep kiss in the front hall. Their fingers roam and explore one anothers’ bodies, rediscovering old sweet spots, remembering times past when they would do this every night and feeling their joy reawakening.

 

They’re intimate again, they’re finally back in the place where only two lovers can be. Bruce falls down to his knees so he can kiss and suck at Clint’s hairless stomach, raking nails down his thighs slow as he can manage.

 

Clint is eager and receptive; helping Bruce along by unbuttoning his pants to Bruce can continue his exploration of the now unmarked skin. He doesn't restrain his appreciative moans and whimpers when Bruce traces new scars with his tongue or nips at his belly, making him laugh. Bruce is kind and gentle, taking his time so they can both enjoy the moment.  
  
Clint feels safe with Bruce. He feels safe and warm and loved. It spreads over his body like a warm blanket, sheltering him from all the shit that fills up their daily lives. They're finally here, together, and that's all they could possibly want.  
  
He pulls Bruce up to his feet and leads him into the bedroom, unbuttoning the scientist's shirt as they go. He slides it slowly off Bruce's torso, exposing his lover little by little before it falls to the ground and he breaks away to kick the door shut behind them.

 

They fall onto the covers and spend a few minutes just looking at each other, shedding trousers and underwear and socks until they’re completely naked and they take a moment to appreciate that this is happening. They’re naked and pressed together, hard and full with happiness (and blood) sharing kisses and sighs and little laughs. They rock together, Bruce leaning out over Clint and then turning over so Bruce is on his back. Clint fits so perfectly between his legs, Bruce the same.

 

Bruce kisses Clint everywhere he can reach, even his eyelids and the spaces between his beautiful, strong fingers.

 

“I missed you like this, I missed it so much,” Bruce whispers with Clint on his back again as he takes his time sucking a hickey into the place where Loki’s mark once was, reclaiming that patch of skin as his own.

 

"I have too," Clint murmurs, carding his fingers through Bruce's hair while the older man leaves his mark. He likes the feel of his lips there and knowing that he is the only person who will mark him ever again. Bruce is erasing the last remnants of Loki's claim with his own and it leaves Clint feeling freer than he has in ages.  
  
"I've missed you so much Bruce," Clint continues when Bruce is satisfied and moves down press kisses to the archer's muscular thighs. "I've dreamed of this so many times."

 

Bruce’s chuckles are little more than hot air against Clint’s thighs as he sucks and bites marks into his legs.

 

“Maybe some time you’ll tell me about your dreams,” he hums as he mouths lazily at the side of Clint’s arcing, warm cock. He earns a little jump of Clint’s hips for his efforts.

 

Body pressed back over his younger lover’s, Bruce takes both of them in hand and begins to pump together, slowly, loosely, just feeling. The slide of Clint’s skin against him feels so much better even than it once did when they were young and rushed and secret.

 

"God Bruce," Clint groans, closing his eyes. Arousal is spreading through him, filling his body and his mind. It's different from the arousal he's used to. It's slower, less demanding, and his body is warm instead of burning with need. It's gentle and if asked he would say he likes it more than any other sex he's had. "Oh, Bruce," he continues, leaning forward to kiss his lover softly on the lips. "God I love you so much."

 

Bruce lifts his head up to look at Clint, brows furrowed. He’s overcome with an emotion he can’t quite identify. He feels warm, and sort of like he wants to cry, and he realizes that this is the first time he’s ever heard Clint say he loves him.

 

But no, that’s not quite right. There’s a strange feeling in his chest, tight, like he’s wrong. Like this isn’t the first time. Like he’s heard it before, there’s some echo of it in the back of his mind.

 

Clint reaches up to cup his face, worry on his features because Bruce has gone still and silent and looks confused.

 

And then he remembers.

Clint said it down in the lab.

When he came down ranting about his fear that Bruce would leave him for Clara.

Amongst all of his quick words, he’d said it.

And Bruce _completely ignored it_.

 

Tears do well up in his eyes now and he starts to sob apologies into Clint’s neck as he leans down to press up against him. He’s overcome with guilt and grief, he knows why Clint left so upset, and he doesn’t know why he ever came back again after. Fear fills him, thoughts of what would have happened to them had Clint not come back down to the lab, if he left thinking that Bruce didn’t love him because he didn’t say it back, all because Bruce’s mind was too scattered to hear it. He can hardly believe how stupid he can be.

 

"Bruce, Bruce it's okay," Clint says, wrapping his arms around his sobbing lover. He holds him tight and turns his head so he can kiss his hair while he hugs him. He hadn't been expecting this kind of reaction. He'd said it because it felt right and now he wonders if he's ruined things for them again. "Shh, Bruce it's alright. You don't have to apologize. It's okay."

 

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t say it, I never said it, I’m sorry, I was scared, I was – I’m sorry,” he whispers and hiccups, rocking against Clint again and kissing him between words. His face is wet with tears and he’s getting Clint wet, but he doesn’t want everything to come to another stop on his account.

 

He feels so dismantled, lying over Clint naked and open for him, like he’s spread out open and Clint can look right into him and he’s so scared, but he wants to let Clint love every little part of him.

 

He presses his forehead to Clint’s and whispers, “I love you, too.”

 

Clint smiles and strokes his cheek, wiping away Bruce's tears. "I know. It's okay, Tony helped me figure it out after I left the lab. For once his meddling did some good."

 

Bruce’s throat tightens. “Tony? What did Tony do?”

 

"He gave me a recording of a conversation you guys had. We can listen to it when we're done." Clint says sheepishly. "Unless you'd prefer to put things on hold again which I really don't."

 

“God damn Tony, that brilliant son of a bitch,” Bruce chuckles. “I told him not to meddle and… this means I owe him a thank you, doesn’t it? He can get so smug though, he’s never going to let this go.”

 

"I already thanked him. Now can we go back to making love or whatever we were about to do? If I hear Stark's name one more time in this bed it's not going to happen tonight." Clint says with a grin.

 

Bruce rolls Clint over on top of him again to straddle his hips and draws him down for another kiss, joy flowering through him as strong as his arousal. He rocks Clint against him again, grinding unhurriedly, squeezing and marking his neck and shoulders again and again.

 

Clint groans, his eyes falling shut and his waning arousal coming back full force. He rocks against Bruce and if it's possible it feels even better than before. It's probably all in his head, just a manifestation of the joy he feels over finally hearing Bruce say he loves him back, but even if it's all imagined it's wonderful.

 

They roll over and over each other, they even fall off the bed once and laugh about their banged knees and continue to rock and grind on the floor for a few minutes before they work their way back up to the bed.

 

Bruce offers Clint his fingers and the younger man wastes no time in sucking them wet. Bruce holds Clint against him, lying on his chest as he massages the passage into Clint’s body that he hasn’t been able to touch in so long. They eventually decide to use lotion for the real penetration of his fingers because they don’t want a single hitch to this night.

 

The sounds Clint makes while draped over Bruce’s body, the scientist’s fingers digging deep into him, are beautiful. Bruce doesn’t think he’s ever heard Clint’s voice sound so lustful and warm and breathless. It even sounds like Clint is crying, but his fingers keep pressing into Bruce’s hair so he takes it as encouragement and keeps going.   

 

Clint does sob. There are tears in his eyes but whenever Bruce tries to pull away he just pushes him forward, rocking back onto his fingers and groaning as the stretch. For the first time in seven years he's with a partner he wants to be with. He doesn't have to close his eyes and imagine someone else's hands or lips.   
  
He's with Bruce. These are Bruce's fingers inside him, stroking his inner walls and finding that place that makes him shudder with anticipation. Now he has to fight to keep his eyes open so he can look at Bruce and hold him and love him because he doesn't want to miss a second of their first time together.

 

Fingers soon make way for Bruce’s cock, and they rock together nice and slow. Clint writhes in pleasure and rolls his hips on top of Bruce for as long as he can manage before his legs give out and Bruce rolls over on top of him. Legs wrapped tight around his waist, Bruce reclaims Clint’s body with every deep stroke inside.

 

They continue to kiss and whisper to each other as the pace picks up, and soon they can’t talk anymore except to say one anothers’ names. They cry out together, their tears mingle as lovemaking quickly speeds up into something rougher. It’s nothing like the dirty fucks they used to share in their little shack in Brazil, but it’s something much more intense than sweet rocking.

 

Their voices are escalating, Clint sobs commands for Bruce to go faster or slower, the pleasure is completely overwhelming for both of them.

 

Bruce fills Clint again and again with powerful strokes, following his every order so it's exactly what he needs. Soft and loving becomes rough and demanding then hard and possessive and back to gentle. Their need grows and ebbs as they satisfy each other. But they take their time, both wanting this to last forever.  
  
Finally there's no more ebb. The feeling pleasure between them swells, a steady crescendo until they reach their peak. Clint comes first but not by much. He cries out Bruce's name and hears Bruce groaning his seconds later. It's better than he ever could have imagined. They'd had mind-blowing sex in Brazil but that was nothing compared to this. This was earth-shattering.

 

 

They stayed locked together for a long time more until Bruce is completely soft, and even then he doesn’t really want to pull out yet. He’s still lying on top of Clint, head on his chest and feeling so very lethargic.

 

“Wow,” he whispers hoarsely as Clint’s arms loop loosely around his shoulders. “ _Wow._ ”

 

"Yeah." Clint chuckles, still panting. "Yeah, wow. That....god I love you." He can't think of anything else that needs to be added to that. There are no words other than 'wow' and 'I love you' that could possibly follow something so spectacular. He tightens his arms around Bruce like he fears he might suddenly fade away. "Will you stay with me tonight?"

 

“Of course,” Bruce murmurs, and they take a moment to disconnect from one another before the scientist rolls over beside Clint. “Yes, absolutely. In fact, I’d like to stay with you every night. Like… I- I mean, I guess move in. With you. Here. If you want.”

 

"Yes. Yes, yes." Clint replies with a grin so wide his cheeks hurt. "Fuck yes. You don't even have to ask."

 

They move in together the next day. It takes all day for Bruce to move his stuff, and he only moves the essentials anyway – his wardrobe, his favorite pillows, toiletries and the like. Clint’s suite is smaller than his (by request) but it’s still more than enough room for the two of them. It’s cozy.

 

Their lives are pretty much perfect at that point. Bruce spends all day in the lab working with Clara and Tony. Marshall even comes to visit a couple times, and he and Clint play baseball. Everything is going pretty much perfect.

 

Clara eventually comes in with the news that she’s finally got a boyfriend, and Bruce and Clint instantly feel protective and want to meet him. He’s a skinny guy named Peter Parker, but he seems nice enough despite the fact that he’s completely terrified when faced with two pseudo Avenger-fathers. They approve. Which is fine, Clara says, because she would have continued to date him even if they didn’t approve.

 

Clint is happier than he's been in years. So much that Natasha comments on it, asking him if he's been drugged one day when he decides to make breakfast for all of the Avengers. She shuts up after her first taste of the waffles he made and he considers that a win.   
  
The others make their comments too, usual teasing them about how cuddly they are on team movie night. Tony mocks them by calling Pepper increasingly sugary pet names and trying to feed her popcorn. Steve congratulates them with a smile and lets it go after that, too busy getting to know the tower's newest resident, a Miss Darcy Lewis, who has quickly become Clara's best friend and Tony's worst nightmare.  


Everything else comes together seamlessly. There wasn't much that needed changing. They work all day and have dinner every night unless Clint is away on a mission or one of them is in medical. The only real difference is that afterwards they cuddle on the couch for a movie which four out of five times turns into making out then sex. Then they go to bed together. They both agree it's easier to sleep with another body close by.

 

Bruce’s mood overall has made a marked increase, even though Tony didn’t think it was possible for him to be any _more_ enthusiastic in the lab. Bruce is constantly telling Clint about the most recent breakthrough they made in their string of experiments, and he even makes efforts to use more grade-level words so Clint can keep up.

 

He asked once if he could help Clint study for his online classes, but Clint made it perfectly clear that he would only feel paranoid with need to impress Bruce, and it would only do more harm than good. So instead, Bruce would just set aside time for Clint to use the kitchen table to study, and he would pass through every now and then to make Clint cocoa or give him a brief shoulder rub.

 

And then one day, all too soon (Bruce is still a little nervous) they finish their last experiment. The rats that they infected with some of Bruce’s DNA – Tony came to call them the Incredible Squeaks – were all coming out of the test alive and well with their DNA combined back into the Hulk’s DNA perfectly. Fifty rats later and they had a 100% success rate. Which was honestly unheard of.

 

"So when are you doing the procedure?" Clint asks over dinner when Bruce gives him the news. He's happy that everything has come through, and that most of the rats lived because he's grown rather attached to them, but he's still a little nervous about the whole thing. Rats aren't people after all.

 

“I’m not sure,” Bruce sighs, running both of his hands through his hair. He hasn’t touched his dinner so far. “I’m… to be honest, I’m pretty scared. I haven’t tried tampering with my DNA this way since Harlem. And that didn’t go spectacularly. We have a pretty decent containment cell built, but… well, there’s still a possibility that this could go south.”

 

"I'll be there with you." Clint says, reaching across the table to offer Bruce his hand. When he takes it he gives him a reassuring squeeze and a small smile, trying not to let his own nervousness show. "Besides, you have three geniuses working on this thing. It can't be that bad, right?"

 

Bruce’s eyes flash anxiously and he looks down at the table. “Right, yeah. I’m sure everything will be fine. I-I mean, 100% success rate, when does that happen, right? I’d say the odds are definitely in my favor.”

 

Clint smiles and rubs the back of Bruce's hand with his thumb. "Exactly. You'll be fine. And you'll be even better if I don't kick your ass for wasting the dinner I spent a whole twenty minutes making."

 

“A whole twenty minutes?” Bruce echoes.

 

He forces most of dinner down, even if he does feel nauseous. There’s no shaking the feeling of dread he’s trying to coerce away.

 


End file.
